There's this little gallery near the gigantic national museum. And inside is a little painting by Mit Senoj I'd pay £30,000 for. I'm putting a number while recalling Manet's aspargus story. Edouard Manet had painted a "botte d'asperges" which a collector sees and acquures. Only some days later Manet receives a cheque from the collector with some extra money saying "This painting has given me so much pleasure, I believe the price I paid wasn't fair". Some days later the collector receives a package with a small painting inside signed by Manet. It's the picture of a single aspargus. And joined to the painting a note saying something along the lines of "cher monsieur, I had also forgotten to join the last aspargus". This beautiful back and forth is deeply defining of what art is I believe. It's a respectful enjoyment of another's piece of work. So when I see this "Miss Sphingidae" by Senoj, I can't help but put a price equal to my enjoyment. Still however. I wonder if I woulf buy it.
I imagine it off that wall and on my sitting room wall. And I feel the enjoyment is no longer the same. When you pick a flower in a forest, you own it but you lose it. Life flees its beauty and it soon dies. If you don't pick it, it'll live longer but will also eventually die. Only you won't be there to witness it and the only memory you'll have is that of its eternal beauty. I'm thinking it even applies to relationships. You lose a person, be it your compagnon or your spouse or your husband, the second you feel it's here for good. The second you stop consciously trying to make her/him yours while deeply knowing that this is a fleeing moment. What I'm trying to say is that beauty might be a fight against forgetfulness and enjoyment the mature realization that nothing will ever be yours.