Taken at Concorde, as I wound my way up all those stairs {I always opt for the aerobically affective route}.

I’m glad now I took it, one of the few Paris pics I have of myself — and in the métro, very fitting.

My apologies for the boringness … but … I took this as after my lovely visit to La Madeleine, on my way to the Tuleries, where I checked out an amazing photography exhibit by AHAE. Walked across the Pont Royal to the D’Orsay and went on beauty overload.

I’ve decided I’m not normal. There’s a shocker for you. I know, how did it take me so long to reach this conclusion?

Well. It all happened at the D’Orsay.

Staring at all those divinely, I can’t-believe-these-are-real impressionist paintings … oh the Renoir’s, Manet’s, Monet’s, Cézanne’s, Degas’, and all the others I can’t remember that I was utterly inspired by.

I simply could not handle it.

Could not handle all that beauty … all the spellbinding aesthetics … the artistic accompli … how dazzling a mere sunset looked on canvas, or a blade of grass.

I stood there, thinking that I just might pass out from art perfection overload and I looked around, wondering if anyone else was about to pass out with me.

I doubt it. They were being normal, doing what normal people do … walking from painting to painting, sometimes backing up to get a better look, squinting eyes, scrutinizing colors.

Meanwhile, I’m standing in the middle of a room, thinking I just might lose it. All over art. And I hadn’t even gotten to the Van Gogh’s yet! That’s a whole other story, once I recover, that I’ll have to tell.

I will always see these paintings through fresh eyes. I know for certain that they will continue to take my breath away.

Is there anything more wonderful than sitting in a gorgeous room of masterful art? Of course, I’d hope for some candy, too, but that and photos are strictly interdit. What’s up with that, anyway … whose the dude running the show at the d’Orsay?

I need to let them know while photos might be interdit, candy never {ever ever} should be.