Turner & waterfalls

Yesterday, before I went to see the waterfalls I went to the Met to see the Turner show. Room after room of paint slathered, scrubbed, glazed, slurred, and meticulously detailed against the magic of image (either eye or brain). An illusionist of great ability and also wonderful largess. Here is the exact line where the sleeve of that dead soldier is among the murk of dark red sienna, here is the intimate illumination of the wave's curve before it reaches the flat, scrumbled beach, and here is the barely described sea monster in the huge, paled immensity of an imagined sea. And so, then off to see water plummeting from metal scaffolds into the East River and the harbor of NYC: