This work, done in pastel crayon on paper, was created by H. Claude Pissarro, the grandson of Camille Pissaro, the son of Emile, Camille's youngest son. It's pretty clear that Claude was very much taken by his grandfather's Impressionist ideas and style.
It's all here, isn't it: the delight in being outdoors, the fascination with weather and light. The gnarly trees seem to dance. The sky has thin cloud cover. We can feel, even hear, the many-colored grasses swaying in a stiff breeze. A peasant woman, carrying a basket over her left arm, is walking along the path. We don't see the start of the winding path, nor its end.
Not a few priests reflect unfavorably on their seminary years. They claim the place was too isolated or too monastic. I wouldn't share that complaint. My seminary, a huge building that could hold more than two hundred men, sat on several hundred acres. All throughout the property there were paths winding through fields and woodland. One wide path led down to wetlands and a bay. I was happiest in these places more than anywhere else. Pile on the snow, I'd make a path through. Indeed, I remember one winter day being stopped by the beauty of some dried grasses, golden yellow, against new snow.
Something happens to us (or for us) when we walk a winding path, grounded, without concrete or asphalt getting in between. Thoughts seem to come up right out of the ground to head and heart. A news item this week indicated that children who have these kinds of exploratory experiences are less likely to suffer emotional illness.
Sorry to say, but many people today have no en-plein-air exposure. The only thing winding under and around them is the mass of winding electric cords connecting computer, television and phones to chargers, speakers and printers. We're the poorer for it.
