"Depending upon whether or not she wore make-up, the pulchritude of the sometimes Luddite ran boustrophedon, thus often making her the penultimate choice at the local singles bar." --JW

The above painting is "Luncheon of the Boating Party," by Pierre-Auguste Renoir, 1881.  A print of this painting hangs and has hung in my bedroom for twenty years.  I have often wondered what draws me to this particular painting, considering it is the only Impressionist print I have ever bought.  My first impression was that it, unlike other paintings of a similar style, looked like fun.  Next I was convinced that it was the artist himself, who, having painted a more realistic Impressionism than Monet and others (not understanding as I do now that some of Monet's greatest works were done as he went blind, and had nothing to do with "realism"), was more worthy of my admiration because of his apparent talent.  Then for some years I walked in a watery world of unawareness and it became just a part of the local lanscape, nothing more.  But like all great and relevant works of art, it refused to be a part of the scenery for very long, even though it is essentially a scenic painting.  It grabbed my eye one day as I was hastily dressing, and I stopped, and stared and saw the distinct personalities in the faces and gestures of each of the characters in the party.  I realized that the genius of the painting was that it was a snapshot of time like a photograph, but conveyed more than a photograph ever could.  Easily explained, it was easily forgotten, again.

As I sat on the deck of a bar called the "Upper Deck" on Trinity Blvd in after our annual celebration of Spring at opening day at the Ballpark in Arlington, I watched an extremely sluttily-dressed girl open an umbrella on a table.  I was extremely amused and, with a smile on my face, leaned back in my chair to take in the dying and beautiful rays of the setting sun.  Steve & Scott were talking about their daughters.  Robert was ordering a food with the waitress with the nose ring.  Everyone was laughing, or at least smiling.  The sun felt good upon my face.  Everyone ate and drank and laughed as the sun set, and I couldn't help wonder how different our conversations and expressions were from the situations in Renoir's masterpiece.  And then I understood.  My first impression of the painting was probably the correct one: I liked the painting because it was fun.  Or precisely because it reminds me, and has always reminded me, of scene after scene after scene of one of the true joys of life: lounging and talking and laughing in a relaxed public setting, the ballpark bleachers or a casual restaurant or someone's backyard; participating in the great langauge game while others watch in awe.