Normality

 

Sunday was a beautiful day. Looking at the forecast, it could well have been the last summer's day as winter fast approaches. What better way to spend it though, than on the patio eating lunch outside with friends.

In contrast the weather yesterday morning was demented, with the rain falling in torrents. At least I'd had the forethought to check the likely conditions a couple of days ago and a rendezvous with an old friend was hastily altered from a day walking in the countryside together to a trip to York. With the media's non-stop reporting of petrol shortages (1st world post Brexit problems that you seriously can't make up), it seemed better to travel by train.

It appears that these days the Transpennine Express actually lives up to its name. Gone are the abysmal two carriages pulled by a diesel engine that I recall from those pre-Covid days and instead a five carriage high-speed train now dashes down the East Coast mainline. A day out by rail; normality really is being restored in splendid style. Also although there was a sense of trepidation at using public transport, it wasn't over crowded and all wore masks, but for that added protection I made sure mine was an FFP2.

 

Our coffee stop was yet more proof of that business as usual vibe, albeit with socially distanced tables and mask wearing when moving. From there we moved to the highlight of our day: a Van Gogh immersive experience. It took place in St Mary's, part of the York Museums. There was something almost surreal about sitting in a deckchair, in the nave of what was once a church whilst Van Gogh's paintings were reproduced cinematically all around you, a soundtrack played and the blossom and rain appeared to fall from the high vaulted ceiling above. It was fittingly dramatic for an artist who wrote, "I put my heart and soul into my work and I lost my mind in the process."

We could have left it there, the blues and yellows of his many paintings weighing on our emotions. No way, not at my first exhibition since inception of the pandemic. For a small aditional charge a virtual reality tour beckoned. Donning binoculars and helmet, I had no idea what to expect but oh my goodness it was amazing! Plunged immediately into Van Gogh's painting of his bedroom at Arles, I looked around with excitement and then reached for the knob on the door but it swung open without my touch. Motion sickness impinged upon my transit down the stairs and then I was outside in the midst of the countryside as painted by Van Gogh.

"I dream my painting and I paint my dream," he wrote. I passed from the bedroom in which he dreamed into the paintings themselves. The cypress trees, the haystacks, the peasants, the fields of wheat and sunflowers, the irises, the sun and that ever moving sky. To the village and the terrace outside the tavern, the night sky with its stars reflecting on the water, the gas lights. I didn't want it to end. Above, below, in front, behind, 360 degrees of artwork surrounded me. 

"I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough what is enough?" 

Yes, Vincent Van Gogh well and truly welcomed me back to the new normal.  However, as he said, "Normality is a paved road: it's comfortable to walk but no flowers grow on it." 

Going forward I am determined to leave that paved road and inhale the scent of the blooms.