Love Among the Ruins

 I fell in love, and didn't even know it. It was years ago, in Spain, in Madrid. The house wasn't large, but the garden was elegant, and the rooms were tastefully decorated. The passion was irresistible, and I left stunned and dazed, basking in the warm afterglow of a life-changing encounter. I had experienced curiosity, lust, respect and awe. sometimes sequentially, sometime in a jumble of confused feelings. It was completely unexpected and overwhelming, and changed my understanding of everything I thought I knew.  And of course, it happened in a museum. Here is an image the object of my affection:

No, I haven't changed my affiliation in any way, but that being said, I found Joaquin Sorolla's work to be amazing, his color sense inspiring, and his compositions faultless. I was breathless in the presence of such a towering talent. Where had he been all my life? Sure, I was still enamored with Richard Diebenkorn, Rosa Bonheur, Artimisia Gentileschi, Georgia O'Keefe, Gustave Caillebotte, John Singer Sargent, Mark Rothko and others, but why oh why had I never heard of Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida? 

To begin with, he was never a member of the famous Parisian coterie that has come to be known as "The Impressionists," choosing instead to reign in Spain, which he did.