Edinburgh.

Between other things, we visited the Museum of Childhood, ate at Monster Mash, walked the National Galleries of Scotland and became so covered in rain on the way up to Arthur's Seat that our path was set to divert. At the Dean Gallery I saw a Joan Miró painting that gave me access to the emotion of joy, wiping the walls with all else.


Despite the hundreds of exhibitions that I have visited, there is nothing better for me than a Miró. Nobody cuts through the divides and analysis with a cleaner warmth. Nobody else has ever made a painting that could last me forever, simply because this is a living feeling rather than a thought or a description. This painting was alive and I was in love. Sky space infinite. Unlimited. Passive in the giant passive. No conflict. Dead in something outside of our imaginations.


Then there was this.