Renoir is winging it- dabbing away at this huge canvas at the very limits of his rather shaky technique. He's not Monet. Monet always knows exactly what he's doing. Every brushstroke- however wild- means something. Renoir isn't that assured. He dabs and dabs and hopes it'll come out right in the end. Maybe he's praying under his breath. Renoir knows he's not as good as his mate, but he's more ambitious. Did Monet ever attempt a figure composition on this scale? Course not. And sometimes when you chance your arm like this Fortune smiles.
Fortune seemed to smile on Buddy Holly too. Look at him smiling back. Always smiling back- so radiant. And then... Oh, if only they'd had a little more patience and hadn't chartered that fucking plane! Richie Valens tossed a coin for a seat. And won- or lost. There's something Homeric about it. Yesterday was the 50th anniversary of the day the music died. Only it didn't, did it? Musicians die; the music carries on.
The music could care less. The music is cruel. The music is a user.
Are we on line still? Yes, the little green eye is holding steady. Let me post this while I can.