Into The Rain, In The Pink

Fog dissipated as I rode across the RFK Bridge this morning on my way to work.

The rest of the day has been overcast, if unseasonably warm.  Rain was promised for late in the day; I will probably pedal home in it.

My philosophy about raingear was best summed up by Robert Browning:  Less is more.   When it's warm, I simply wear as little as possible.  When it's a bit cooler, I try to keep at least my extremities dry.  I've learned I have a choice of getting wet from outside or within:  If I am uncovered, I will get drenched in the rain, but if I cover myself up, I'll bathe in my own sweat even when I'm wearing "breathable" raingear.

Now, if I want to be stylish, of course, I'll ride with an umbrella.  Believe it or not, it's something I've actually done:  umbrella in one hand, handlebar in the other.  I also saw it done in England and France.  Of course, pedaling with your parapluie in one hand is best done at slow speeds in places with light vehicular traffic.

But since riding with an umbrella is about style--or, at least, fashion--one's color choices are important.  

Thanks to "Sancycles" of Malabon, Philippines for that image.

An Umbrella On The Trail

There are films I see for their artistry or historic or cultural significance.  Then there are movies that, I admit, I watch solely as entertainment, as harmless diversions. 

Then there are cinematic works that I simply must look at again and again because, really, there's nothing else like them and they defy categorization.  Among them are Vittoria de Sica's The Bicycle Thief and The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, Fracois Truffaut's The 400 Blows and Jacques Demy's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.

That last one is perhaps the most uncategorizable of all.  If someone had told me, beforehand, that all of its dialogue is sung, I probably never would have looked at it, as I am not a fan of musicals.  However, it would never work if someone tried to cast it as a musical, whether on film or stage.  Hey, I think that even translating it into English would be almost criminal.

Also, the film is shot in a way that doesn't remind me of any other.  It's been compared to an Impressionist or Pointillist painting--which, in some ways, is a valid comparison.  It often uses color and form in ways similar to those of Auguste Renoir or Georges Seurat. It's actually worth seeing for that reason alone:  It's purely and simply beautiful to look at.  (So, for that matter, are Catherine Deneuve and Nino Castelnuova.)  It reminds me of why someone described melancholy as "beautiful sadness".

I got to thinking about  Umbrellas and the painters I've mentioned after coming across this image: