Naima Morelli

Monet’s Garden at the National Gallery of Victoria, The Media Preview


Media Previews, along with the free catalogues of the exhibitions, are among the advantages to be part of the “media”.
I have no idea how the NGV has come to know that I’m a journalist, but you know, I got this mail and the object was “Monet’s Garden Media Preview”. I couldn’t say no.

The ingredients were all there.
The National Gallery of Victoria. One of the most famous modern painters of all the times. Pastels colors  Frenchness. I was sure the dynamic NGV would adjust itself to the élégance et finesse required from such event.
So I wore my little back dress with fuchsia stockings and I invited my boyfriend to come with me.
He was not sure he wanted to came. It was too early for him, I mean, nine o’ clock!
“The whole thing would be to classy for me anyways!”, he mumbled curling up in the sheets.
“Come on! Since we are in the City, we can also go do groceries at your favorite Mall after!” I told him.
This convinced him and he finally woke up. He wore his never washed second world war German coat, he grabbed his grannish blue and grey groceries trolley and we were ready to go.

It was even better than I expected. The NGV was very keen to cuddle its journalist.
They give me an elegant media kit, pen driver included, with a selection of images.
My boyfriend was very happy about that:” I really needed an other usb pen! Maybe we can grab an extra media kit with another pen, what do you think?”
A brief introductory conference took place in the Hall, where the NGV staff served adorable morning tea with lovely short-breads.
Whereas I was taking advantage of the NGV’s kindness, my boyfriend didn’t touch any of the short-breads  Even if he was clearly longing for them, he was too shy to come close to the crowded table with his smelly coat and his disheveled hair.

Going further into the exhibition we passed by the bar area, exoticised in a sort of South France dining. As if it wasn’t enough, we passed through a corridor with a wallpaper reproducing a typical European countryside stone wall, with a screen in the middle projecting images of Monet in his villa.

The press stream was guided in the exhibition rooms by a guide who explained the life of the painter. I left the group and I went in the next rooms to see the paintings by myself.
There is not much left to say about Monet, like you can’t say anything more about all the great master on which the literature is abundant. And as well, every attempt to comment would be extremely banal. You know, the colors. The composition. The impression.
At the same time you can’t help appreciating what billions, trillions of people appreciated before your eyes lingering on these brushstrokes.
Monet’s painting it’s the sort of painting that blows you with its soft violets, tenuous greens, pale pinks and then deep teals.
You don’t need fake country walls to introduce you to that quietness and natural splendor. It’s there, on the canvas. It’s evident.
“…reminds me to my granma’s coverlet” said my boyfriend interrupting my thoughts and hiding himself under his hood.
The poor guy just made the mistake to stand more than tree seconds in front of a painting and a photographer suddenly took a picture of him. Now he was blushing and trying to carry his groceries trolley with more discretion.
“I hate that!” He complained “As soon as they see someone in front of a painting, clearly doing his own business, they go ciak ciak ciak ciak, like a machine gun. They shoot you without notice!”
“Maybe your coat matches the color of the painting” I tried to comfort him.
“Yeah, sure…”, he sighed sadly poking in the holes in his pockets.

The last room of the exhibition cheered my boyfriend up. There was a big projection of the gardens of Monet’s villa, with the bridge and the ponds he took inspiration from.
A background of classical music suppose to add loftiness to the entire thing.
I stood several minutes to see the projection running on the circular walls of the room, then I turned back searching for my boyfriend and his trolley.
Finally I spotted him. Taking advantage of the darkness of the room, he was bent on one of the tables with the tray of salmon sandwiches.
“Are they any good?” I asked with a smile
“Mmm… they are ok…” he said trying to appear casual, but with a mouthful of sandwich and other three in his hands.
I was about to go, when I saw on another table not far a tray with colorful macarons.
Without hesitation I grabbed an handful of them.
I definitely love media previews.
“Now let’s do the groceries”






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