One of the most evocative paintings I've ever seen was a small Van Gogh in the Armand Hammer traveling collection when it came to a museum here.
It was a monastery garden in a cold winter rain. It just riveted me as few things in that great collection did. I had to keep going back to its wonderful, bleak melancholy, sad but beautiful, with none of Van Gogh's vivid colors.
A good art therapist would have a field day evaluating my response to that weary little gem.
Dammit, bigride, you've provoked me to think, at midnight on a Saturday night.