To end the darkness.
Camille Monet was sick.
And, despite everything, she continued to slip away.
Then an unexpected pregnancy sucked the last bits of life from her, and in 1879, she died.
She was 32.
The Monet family was living in the house of an art patron in the village of Vétheuil then.
Claude Monet could no longer afford Paris.
The impressionist style of painting, once so popular, which he himself had christened, had faded.
Claude’s works brought few sales.
And his debts mounted.
Depression — that dark sadness — his life-long nemesis, was winning the old battle.
Claude confessed to a friend his wish to die.
He painted empty scenes of harsh weather, using dark colors.
Then, on an April day in 1883, Claude was traveling through Normandy on a train.
He looked out the window and noticed a small village along the Seine.
It was Giverny.
Claude visited and decided to settle there.
He found a house with a flower garden and a water garden.
And everything seemed to change.
An art magazine published a favorable article on his work.
His paintings began to sell in America.
He had a successful show.
Claude paid off his debts.
And he remarried.
Giverny.
Claude would live there for forty-three years, tending the gardens and reveling in the delicate beauty of living, growing things.
He won his battle against the darkness in this place.
So, as our nation steps deep into a dark time, I wonder how we’ll ever find our Giverny.
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I’ll see you tomorrow.
— Brenda
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