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A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, and: Backward Postcard Mailed from Amherst

A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, and: Backward Postcard Mailed from Amherst Terrence Savoie A Sunday on La Grande Jatte ­ Art Institute of Chicago, 2001 We weren't wrestling over global war & certainly weren't making predictions about the world's end so that when you asked how I imagined death would be, I was startled & could only think of that painting, the thirty or so minutes I spent lost in it at the Art Institute & all the while others to-ing & fro-ing, brushing up against me, whispering to themselves as if I didn't even exist, & the Seine before us, the boats, all motionless as if those boats planned it just that way from all eternity, absolutely no dipping & dragging with the current. No current. On the bank the expressionless were taking their Sunday afternoon stroll beneath the shade of trees & hats & pleasant umbrellas as each stared head-on into the mystery that stretched out there beyond them. In my mind I am waving & waving from the Beyond, beyond the roped-off area separating them & us, but they all seem to be staring, lost in themselves, staring straight ahead as if what was there wasn't there. That, I imagine, is death when I'm brave enough http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Prairie Schooner University of Nebraska Press

A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, and: Backward Postcard Mailed from Amherst

Prairie Schooner , Volume 80 (3)

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Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2006 by the University of Nebraska Press.
ISSN
1542-426X
Publisher site
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Abstract

Terrence Savoie A Sunday on La Grande Jatte ­ Art Institute of Chicago, 2001 We weren't wrestling over global war & certainly weren't making predictions about the world's end so that when you asked how I imagined death would be, I was startled & could only think of that painting, the thirty or so minutes I spent lost in it at the Art Institute & all the while others to-ing & fro-ing, brushing up against me, whispering to themselves as if I didn't even exist, & the Seine before us, the boats, all motionless as if those boats planned it just that way from all eternity, absolutely no dipping & dragging with the current. No current. On the bank the expressionless were taking their Sunday afternoon stroll beneath the shade of trees & hats & pleasant umbrellas as each stared head-on into the mystery that stretched out there beyond them. In my mind I am waving & waving from the Beyond, beyond the roped-off area separating them & us, but they all seem to be staring, lost in themselves, staring straight ahead as if what was there wasn't there. That, I imagine, is death when I'm brave enough

Journal

Prairie SchoonerUniversity of Nebraska Press

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