"What's that supposed to be?" Jaime muttered under her breath. "It looks like someone threw up on the canvas."
"You're standing too close. Back up and you'll see what it is." I hated being stuck with Jaime for the museum tour. The bubblehead couldn't tell a Manet from a Monet and thought Van Gogh was a rock band.
"It's not even framed." She sneered. "It looks like he used it to clean his brushes."
I suppressed a sigh of exasperation, but after peering again at the Monet, I had a twinge of doubt. It did look like something that was rescued from a dumpster. I couldn't tell what it was and there was no title card to hint at what Monet had in mind when he painted it.
Or threw up on it. Or used it to clean his brushes.
Most of the paintings in the Marmottan had a similar vibe, although I would never admit that to Jaime, the poli-sci major.
"I'm sure his good paintings are at the Louvre. Why don't we go there?"
It was the first intelligent thing Jaime said all day.
"The Louvre is air-conditioned," she whispered.
(Painting: Claude Monet
Le pont japonais)
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