In the dark―day two

The day after visiting the Imperial War Museum,I backed there again to continue the lest I had left. Again it took time for me. I spent much time for the World war I section where the book 'Birdsong' belonged.

Last winter I happened to meet the book 'A week in December' by Sebastian Faulks,the same author as 'Birdsong'. On the way to my work on the wall in the underground corridor was a big advertisement of it,which was saying ''one meeting will change our life" or sort. Well, it sounded interesting enough for me to purchase it as I had been having this instruction.Chose what you are close to carefully,or you could be a bad girl.....!!!and that had been true.We are in the currency that seems being occurring by the outside power but actually the source of it is the movement we make at first place. And funny thing is that the way we make decision is actually base on our experience and knowledge which has been made by ,well, what we had took in the past. Over all It seems our life is consisted of a lot of choices we have made through a number of fateful encounter. So, there am I with the book of the author who became one of my favourite.

In the dark―day one

Little did I know about the history where my grandparents were belong,which I felt deeply after reading the book called Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks,whose story mainly occurred during world war I. And by the author I had known that London had the museum called the Imperior War Museum.

The museum is located north London near Lambeth North tube station in Geraldine Mary Harmsworth Park.It shows the life and experience from the World war I through II to Cold War,including Secret War which I had regarded as being a fiction such as 007. When I was around 12,I read the book which was actually the diary written by Anne Frank who was 13 at the time,hiding on an attic with her family during the world war II because of their identity as being jew. In the end,she was trapped and killed at Bergen-Belssen concnetration camp -the Holocaust. Since then, the fact had been pasted in my head.I started off from the highest flower which was the section for the Holocaust. I didn't think that I was going to stay around 3 hours and too dizzy to go on to another flower.

Stepping out from the museum,I was welcomed by the blight and warm sunlight. I hardly say that I've learned or known but might be able to say I've captured a very little at least...

Soaked with frutiful stories

Painting posses stories in them. They are not like books which have a plenty of pages with letters telling their contents and enrich our imagination and knowledge.However,they give us similar experiences. They are pulling us into their world and let us think their backdrops by just showing their images.So,visiting museums is one of my favorite activities which allows me to meet a lot of stories on the day in a specific space.This time I went to The Courtauld Gallery for the first time in my London life.

The Gallery is located in the Sumerset House. Its approved collections,such as van Gogh’s Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear, Manet’s great last painting A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, lead us not to think about its scale which supplies us with relaxed time movement as we don't need to rush to other works.I take time slowly to move on to another vision and if I find a painting fascinating and sympathetic air, I just stop and gaze.In front of 'Lady with a parasol', first, I couldn't see the shape of the painting and tried to figure out what was in the flame. That was a woman looking slightly ahead to her left side,turning back against audience with her parasol painted by black ink. It was so simple but perfectly calculated on the balance on the canvas.The woman didn't tell me a lot but the space did.There were passion in silence and sadness in peace.

Only did I realized that it became afternoon after the trip ended and decided to have a little snack with coffee at the cafe on the lower ground floor where a open terrace was available. Sitting down in the sun, I was so fulfilled with the images and histories that I felt pleasant quietness.