But lately it's as if the whole sky has been painted by an impressionist. But not in a Monet kind of way where there are broad brush strokes and pastel colors and his essence flowing through his brush onto the canvas in some expression of the reality that passes through his and becomes paint. It's more like someone has shifted the paradigm again, just as they did in the 19th century, when real became impression.
Some great painter in the Texas sky has changed the convex and concave of the lens through which I see the sky in such a way that all of the clouds have extra fluff around their edges and they stretch across the endless sky in some great panorama that takes full seconds to move through in a 360 degree rotation. But I could spend hours looking at that one place he says because it's my favorite part of the sky. The colors seem softer as if that same painter has placed an invisible film over the lens, just like how it all seems a bit hazy, as if the fine brush was switched for the flat one.
It's actually humidity, but I like to think of it as a painter as I stare at the soft sunset going down and the crescent of red becoming a shimmering point and then disappearing.
What if the sky was a Dada painting one day? That'd be a trip.
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