Giverny Vernon

Giverny

When I was last in Paris I was given a choice - a particularly difficult one in fact (life hasn't exactly been complicated to date). Embrace my inner five year old and go completely wild at Disneyland or take a train, a bus and a rain-dappled foot journey to Giverny, the home of Claude Monet. Actually, I lied. It was a stupidly easy decision. I packed a bag, donned my sort-of-sensible walking shoes and made for the Paris outskirts. The water lilies were calling. In seemingly sleepy Giverny, a town which seems completely untouched by time or the bustling capital, which is less than an hour away, there are blooms aplenty and a powerful sense of artistic history. If you've got a day to spare, make the journey, wander the footsteps of Monet and fall for the power of colour, reflections and bucolic France.

I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers. Claude Monet

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

People discuss my art and pretend to understand as if it were necessary to understand, when it's simply necessary to love. Claude Monet

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment. Claude Monet

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny

Giverny