INTRO

The train is about to depart, so we kindly ask all passengers to please take their seats.

Excuse me, but may I sit by the window?

Thank you. It's not easy to give up a window seat with a view.

My vision isn't what it used to be, so the scenery looks different now.

However, the view I see now is still very intriguing.

There's nothing more beautiful in the world than the chaotic blend of light and color.

Actually, I'm a pretty well-known artist. painter. I can't help but be sensitive to what I see.

If you don't mind, would you keep this old artist, Claude Monet, company on this journey?

CHAPTER 1

"Paris"

There are people whose hearts race just at the mention of that name.

I, too, had a time when I dreamed of making it in Paris.

The Salon would see 10,000 visitors a day coming to admire the artwork.

Newspapers were filled with critiques from reviewers like Émile Zola, and praises flowed from the mouths of the aristocracy.

It was truly a paradise for artists.

There, I picked up the brush alongside friends like Cézanne, Manet, and Pissarro.

In 1865, I quietly debuted at the Salon with "The Tidal Wave at La Hève" and "The Mouth of the Seine at Honfleur."

I boldly presented "Women in the Garden," but it didn't receive favorable reviews.

Critics said the work lacked sincerity, and the figures looked like soulless dolls—everyone had something to say.

I just drew what I saw.

I've been turned away from the salon for no less than a decade since.

He started to paint a landscape that was considered better than a blank sheet of paper.

I put all my energy into making my world.

In 1874, I held an exhibition with colleagues such as Renoir and Degas.

An artist named Leroy saw my "Impression, Sunrise" and said this.

"Your impression? It's a bit of a self-indulgent and insipid. Freedom and comfort in brush strokes! Even the wallpaper would be more complete than this coastal painting!"

The exhibition was a complete failure.

We had fewer than 200 visitors a day, and they mostly came to mock us.

However, we did not give up.

The only thing young artists like us had was the determination to capture the world on canvas.

Interestingly, all the colleagues who were with me ended up living their entire lives as painters.

CHAPTER 2 

Camille, who was my model at the time, gave me unwavering support despite being an unknown painter.

Her father, who disapproved of her relationship with me, cut off financial support.

In 1870, we had our wedding ceremony, but her father didn't attend.

After the war ended, we settled in Argenteuil, a suburb of Paris.

It was a house with a small garden, and life there was blissful.

I set up a studio on a boat and painted while floating on the water.

There were days when I worked alongside Renoir and Manet in the beautiful countryside.

It was a time filled with romance.

Camille was the completion of my youth.

She was often born anew on my canvases.

Going out to the fields together and seeing Camille's bright smile among countless flowers was something that couldn't be expressed in any color.

Camille bore us two children, and though we weren't wealthy, we spent the warmest days together.

Thanks to her, I learned how to love the world.

Such happiness was short-lived; Camille, whose health was frail, left this world at the age of thirty-two.

My muse, who illuminated my passion, departed.

But I couldn't abandon my longing for light.

Now, in a place without Camille,

I had to paint the landscapes we once admired together.

That was my destiny as a painter who chose the life of an artist.

CHAPTER 3

Enamored by the diverse forms and changes of light, I longed to paint even more varied subjects.

I sought to feel every light that approached me beneath nature's canopy.

The dawn of daybreak, the blazing afternoon sun, the misty evenings.

To me, the teacher was the countless hues that could only be savored in nature.

One day, while riding a train just like today, I saw Giverny near the outskirts of Paris.

I was instantly captivated by everything about Giverny.

At first sight, I fell in love and settled there with my second wife, Alice.

I found myself falling deeper in love with nature as time went on.

Aside from painting, I spent all my time tending to the garden.

Some in the village knew me more as a gardener than a painter.

The flowers born from my hands gave me greater gifts.

My garden was both my sanctuary and my studio.

Around that time, my paintings began to sell, and as circumstances improved, I expanded the garden.

At that time, a Japanese art movement called "Japonism" gained tremendous popularity in Europe.

People were enthralled by its bold techniques, where humans and nature coexisted harmoniously.

The way every element of the landscape came together in harmony was astonishing.

I, too, installed a Japanese-style arched bridge over one of the ponds in my garden.

The pleasure of admiring that graceful scenery was endless.

Giverny is my own paradise, filled with light and color.

My masterpiece, without a doubt, is the Giverny garden.

It's fate that we crossed paths like this, so if you ever have the time, do pay a visit.

CHAPTER 4

In 1887, the New York exhibition was a great success.

Soon after, my paintings began to sell immensely in both the United States and Europe.

The art world began to take notice of us Impressionist painters.

My paintings, proclaiming "Light is color," started to gain recognition worldwide.

I want to capture all the light of the world with my paints.

Light obsesses me, delights me, and torments me.

My brushstrokes become more delicate, and the spectrum of colors I handle widens.

I must not be captivated by the forms of objects.

It's when I rely on the purest impressions conveyed by the eye

that I can encounter the most beautiful and noble landscapes.

So, I continued to practice by drawing the same subject over and over again.

Following the ever-changing light moment by moment, I found myself drawing dozens of pieces without even realizing it.

I can confidently say that I've never drawn the same painting twice.

I captured the dazzling light, each time with different colors.

Working in London both challenged me and helped me grow.

There's no place in the world as mysterious as London in winter.

The fog breaks the firm boundaries of straight lines, and the light scatters wildly.

I got closer to my ideal, but still, I couldn't be satisfied.

Besides, I painted over a hundred pieces like "Thames River Scene" and "Waterloo Bridge,"

but I couldn't hand any of them over to dealers because none of them felt finished.

The enchanting light spread before me cannot be perfectly captured by hand.

Such a task might belong to the realm of gods.

Yet, I constantly challenge myself to do so.

As a painter of light and a human who admires the beauty given by the divine.

CHAPTER 5

As the days went by, the critics praised more and more, but I remained unsatisfied.

Wasn't it just a canvas painted pink and blue?

The only thing I could trust was my two eyes.

I trusted only these eyes and held the brush.

But those eyes began to blur over time.

In 1908, nearing the age of seventy, I traveled to Venice,

pouring out my passion as if I had returned to my youth.

I thought I had seen many beautiful landscapes in the world,

but I regretted not coming when I was younger, more adventurous.

There are still breathtaking sights in the world

and a spectacle of light that always amazes me,

but I could no longer see them as clearly.

My obsession with water and the images reflected in it still persists.

I am currently working on a massive mural project.

I am painting my studies in their actual size.

People call me the "Father of Impressionism,"

but I believe there is something transcendent beyond Impressionism.

Drawing that at my age is indeed a challenging task.

But what can I do?

I was born a painter, destined to spend my life painting.

I cannot abandon my calling.

I want to express the pure, flawless beauty that exists solely in color and light,

free from any constraints.

OUTRO

I guess I've become talkative in my old age.

I didn't expect to share so many stories with you.

I hope you found the tales of an old man whose only skills are painting and gardening amusing.

I'll go now to work on what might be my final piece.

My name is Claude Monet, remembered as a painter who loved light.

Our train will soon arrive at the transfer station.

Passengers who will be getting off, please prepare to disembark.

Claude Monet died of lung cancer in Giverny in 1926.

Known as the father of Impressionism, he painted over 5,000 works during his lifetime,

continuing to paint until his final days.

His later works, created after his vision began to blur, became precursors to Abstract Expressionism.

Monet, who was beloved across the United States and Europe in the early 20th century, continues to be popular to this day.

"I still discover beautiful things anew every day."

- Claude Monet