these snapshots were taken two summers ago;
the only reason i kept both is that (i still feel)
simply looking at them the sense of (flat out)
awe which swept over me when i was standing
in the presence of Sargent's incomparable work.
[the room at the met was empty for a few minutes,
and i stared in stunned silence at the majesty (it
could only be described that way) all around.] so
where the v. masterful pgt is waxing eloquent about
Sargent. you'll learn much more from her, and see
why there is space for nothing but quiet and pure
amazement when you are stock still next to him.
