ERIC MAISEL post
An artist was sitting in his usual spot in the café, at a certain window table with a view of the street and, today, some wild autumn weather. A gaggle of wet scholars arrived and sat down at the table next to him. The philosopher among them intoned about the platonic form of rain and how the music of the spheres must sometimes sound like thunder. The anthropologist among them told several stories about the weather mythology of primitive peoples. The astronomer among them, who was also an amateur meteorologist, explained the niceties of barometric pressure and the logic of weather prediction. The art historian among them remarked on the uses of wild weather in the paintings of the Turner and how Van Gogh employed the Japanese device of slanted lines to depict rain. So bored and restless did this discussion make the artist that he packed up his things, strode out of the café, and embraced the wind-blown rain that struck and greeted him.
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