Original subtitles

- Bonjour. - Bonjour.

Claude Monet.

l'm Francois Tibor Cisant,

from Le Tong,

the newspaper.

l wrote to you Monsieur Monet.

Well at least you got my name right? That's a start.

l was here on time.

l've been right round the garden looking for you.

Yeah you do look a little red.

Almost vermillion.

Journalists huh, they all want to know me now

so many interviews and articles, it wasn't always like that.

We saw the world afresh,

but for a long time the world didn't seem to understand us.

l'm on my own here!

The impressionists, they called us.

We were painters of water, of light, of colour.

We were of our own time yet beyond it.

You bENin at eight in the morning with drawing from life.

Each week our model adopts a classic pose

and with constant attention you will start to understand the skills of the old master.

l will help you when l come in twice a week to correct your attempts.

When do we paint Mr Gleyre?

A bENinner first learns drawing

and then how to arrange colours on the palette.

l'm here to paint.

l've been here for weeks l haven't even seen a paintbrush.

You'll get used to it.

Tell me Monsieur Monet,

whose classic pose is our model taking this week?

- Titian. - What?

Titian!

Renoir!

Titian Monsieur Gleyre.

lt's a bit dusty in here sir.

Your studio.

My studio aha.

My studio is out there.

Do you always paint outside?

l invented it, they thought we were mad.

Who do you mean by we?

That crowd.

l met Renoir and Bazille at Gleyre's Academy,

friends l would never lose sight of.

My father doesn't believe that being an artist is a properjob

so the agreement is that l attend Gleyre's academy

or he casts me off.

But doesn't your family realise you're going to be world famous.

Yeah we all are Bazille.

They want me to take over the family grocery by the sea.

You mean you'd sacrifice being grocer, won't you miss it?

- l'll miss the sea. - And you'll miss the vENetables.

No, l'd have spent my life in le Harve as a caricaturist,

if it hadn't been for the sea.

lt makes my head spin.

This is what makes my head spin.

l don't know if l would have become an artist

if god hadn't created the female breast.

lt's a hobby for me,

l've eh, l've yet to sit my medical exams.

l'm still painting flowers, porcelain vases.

l should have been a tailor like my father.

ls that me?

My nose isn't half that big.

What it's a beautiful nose.

Ah thank you.

- So you're a laundress? - Since l was ten.

Oh such beautiful hands.

l used to go to the beach instead of school.

l could never stick to the rules, even then.

There was something so vivid.

Something, once l found it

that set the course of the rest of my life.

So your inspiration came from nature, not from other artists?

Well the inspirations no good on it's own eh, it's like sugar

to make the best of it you have to put it with something else.

l like mine with my chocolate in the morning.

Yeah or plums, even tomatoes, sometimes you need a bit of a jolt.

Well who gave you a jolt?

Different people, at different times,

all dead now.

Who kept you going? Then, when you first arrived in Paris?

Renoir and Bazille.

there was someone else

who l didn't get to know for a while, but l knew his work.

Everything we thought of as new started with him.

When l looked at Manet's work

one world ended and another bENan.

The women in his paintings were unconventional.

His great muse was Victorine Meurent.

Look at me Victorine, straight at me.

Turn your face towards me and look at me.

You're not gonna paint me looking straight out the canvas are you?

l'm a god.

There're cherubs circling my head.

This is Paris in eighteen sixty two, only one of those is true.

This is Paris and it's eighteen sixty two.

This is how we live now.

ls this what growing up in a house of puritans has done to you?

Most probably.

What did you think about my picture?

l retouched it.

l asked your opinion.

My opinion was that it needed retouching.

Would you retouch a DENas?

No because it would be an insult.

You're just starting out.

Oh and you're an old master are you?

l'm master of your time when you're in my studio.

- Can l rest a moment? - No.

My back is stiff.

Look at me Victorine, look at my face.

You can remember what l look like for a few minutes.

l can't, l can only paint what l see.

The peaches aren't going to last, but that's peaches for you.

Suzanne was his anchor, they married around this time.

lt's three o'clock, has he given you any lunch?

No.

Well then he shouldn't blame you if he eat his props.

He does the same to me when l sit for him.

You must be cold.

Manet used to say his battlefield was a Salon,

the state run art exhibition.

Unfortunately for him the Salon wanted artists

who would help build the French empire,

myths, angels and glory,

history paintings with a fine finish, art hand in hand with politics.

Doing it's bit for Emperor Louis Napoleon.

Sadly the salon's yearly exhibition was our only real hope of getting work seen,

and sold.

lt was presided over by the Marquis de Chenevier,

his dead hand passed over all the canvases

of all the artists, who submitted.

Gentlemen, a Venus by Cabanel.

Louis Napoleon is considering purchasing this for his collection.

Look how it swells. Real ambrosian purple.

- Beautifully finished. - Very subtle shade on the nipples.

By one of our medalled artists, so um, no vote to be taken.

Good God

who produced this monstrosity?

Why has he done this?

This painter is a dENenerate.

lt looks like he's painted it with a scrubbing bush.

lt has no anatomical structure.

The world looks to France as pinnacle of civilisation.

this painting makes us savages.

One would think our great history of art never happened,

refused.

So many painting were refused that year.

So many artists complained

that the emperor announced an exhibition of all the rejected works.

When Paris heard there was a painting of a naked concubine

sitting in the woods with a couple of young dandies.

Well we all came to see.

That's an excellence.

- She's not nude she's naked. - Her flesh is so white.

That's out of perspective.

And their suits are so dark.

- lt doesn't look finished. - So simple.

You can see the brush strokes on the canvas.

Those broad areas of light, it turns into nature.

She's staring a us.

You can see what they had for lunch.

lt's our world, he's painted our world.

When l looked at Dejeuner

l saw the very thing l had been moving towards,

not ancient Rome or ancient Greece or mount Olympia,

but Paris.

You painted a naked concubine,

with her clothes in a heap on the floor next to her.

That's what l want to paint, DENas.

The men in the salon find it hard to admit

that women undress in line, let alone in art.

Don't you think the salon officials all have mistresses?

They all have mistresses and they probably all visit courtesans,

but they don't want to see it in an art gallery.

They've certain given me a good kicking for it.

Socrates said when he insulted

why should l resent it when an ass kicks me.

Paris is full of asses who won't let me paint what l see.

Cause they don't want what you see, they want Venus.

l see Victorine.

They're not ready for you.

- When will they be ready? - l'd say not for a while.

You can lead an ass to water Manet, but you cannot make it think.

With friends like Edgar DENas, Manet didn't need enemies.

Art.

Art is the capacity to take pains.

Monet.

l was just examining the texture of his skin.

lt's not bad but it's, it's, it's too, it's too much like the model.

You have a stocky man, you, you draw him stocky.

He has enormous feet, you reproduce them.

lt's very ugly.

ln drawing one must always think of the antique.

l prefer to work from nature.

Nature is a mean to an end.

A masterpiece borrows from a, a hundred imperfect models.

For me nature is an end in itself.

Nobody's interested in nature.

The man has got big feet.

Arts've been around a damn site longer than you

and it isn't gonna change overnight.

Well it certainly isn't going to here.

Because you think we should all draw a man with big feet.

And if we do we will all draw him differently

and his feet will be different, just as we are all different,

and the world is different in every moment of every day.

Style is what matters.

- Style, style, style. - l want reality.

Reality has no place in my studio.

l've just seen the future and you know something?

You're not in it.

No doubt you paint to have fun, Renoir.

lf it wasn't fun, Monsieur Gleyre, l wouldn't do it.

Nothing that makes me feel,

nothing that art is for me, even exists for Gleyre.

- l'm very happy with him. - l can't stay with him.

Well l think most of the other students are happy.

Well the other students are just a lot of grocer's assistants.

- Monet. - l can't stay there.

Oh it's like rising from the dead day after day.

- l say we don't go back. - Hold on, let's think about it.

lf we can't paint what we were born to paint,

we might as well be doctors and tailors.

At least then we'd be doing something real.

l think we should go back.

Never, we will never ever go back there.

Of course l did go back,

only to complete what l was working on.

But l was impatient to be out there, in the light.

l wanted to be my own master.

l found myself penniless,

but was ready to hurl myself recklessly into the open air.

- Are we nearly there yet? - Just a bit further.

lt's getting very dense.

Didn't expect to trip over Manet's Dejeuner?

Oh rubbish she was a studio creation.

No one has ever started and completed a painting outdoors before.

Well that's because it would take most painters two years to complete one.

And they'd die of cold.

Look. There.

See how the light falls through the leaves onto the forest floor.

And the leaves against the sky.

No one can tell me that there is no colour in shadow,

when l have stood here and seen it, and painted it for myself.

Thank you.

New colours, new studio.

lt would better with a couple of figures in it.

People are far too distracting.

Of course there were hidden dangers in the forest.

Well you've captures the leaves very well.

Can we go home now?

He was all England discus champion,

would you believe that?

ln the middle of the Fontainebleau forest.

Does that roast beef have to come with us?

Bazille, what are you doing?

lt's the only thing an artist can do in a time of crises.

Make sure that l look really ill.

use cobalt blue and cadmium orange for the bruise.

Painting is a dangerous occupation,

especially when you don't sell.

l'd nearly lost my lEN.

l was starving and homeless.

Life's more fun when you have to worry about money, Monet.

That is not a sane thing to say, Renoir.

lt stirs you up.

Well then you'll be delighted to know

that no one wants us to do their portraits.

Well what about that doctor friend of yours?

He can't even force his friends to have their portraits done.

He wouldn't have to.

l could hold them down and you could paint them.

Bazille will look after us.

He'll give you his bed.

- He might give it to you. - He'll give it to you.

Or he might keep it for himself.

Do you think he's still got that bag of beans?

With any luck he'll have finished them by now.

Please god let there be meat.

Make yourselves at home gentlemen.

Renoir, you can sleep here,

you can have the bedroom.

- What about you? - l'll take the Chez Lounge.

Are you sure?

Why, what are friends for?

Oh well it's only for a short while.

l'm delighted to have you here, both of you.

- lt's looking infirmer in here. - Beans, gentlemen.

Oh l had beans last night.

Oh and you'll have beans tonight, until that sack runs out,

and then we'll have lentils.

- l have plenty of paint. - And beans.

- And logs for the fire. - And beans.

lf the first one up in the morning can start the fire,

l'll make breakfast.

Monet.

Hang on.

What happened to your limp?

Oh, now there's a hunger no amount of beans can satisfy.

- Who is she? - No idea.

As far as Paris is concerned this will be seen

as more of a crime than a creation.

l don't paint niminy piminy dabs, DENas.

This painting is alive, Olympia is alive.

- Where's your veil of mythology? - He didn't give her one.

That, my dear is quite apparent.

Here is a modern Olympia, our Olympia.

You won't find her in mythology or antiquity.

l know exactly where you'll find her,

l could tell you what door to knock on.

- What's that? - Black cat.

- Beelzebub himself. - l needed a touch of black.

Well Titian's Venus has her lap dog, mine has her cat.

A lap dog doesn't signify anything sordid.

The Salon will have a field day.

Where on earth did he pick up this yellow bellied odalisque?

And he has the gall to call her Olympia.

Thank god l didn't bring my wife.

When art stoops this low, censor is too good for it.

A puny model laid out on a sheet

who couldn't move her arms and lENs if she wanted to.

The least woman has bones and muscles and skin,

some sort of colour but it.

He's trying to do something else.

Something else, that isn't art.

lt is art, about real people and, and real things.

You may be the art critic, Durante, but as far as l am concerned

reality and art are two very different things.

...a joilty and dusting, unacceptable.

lt'll have to be moved.

- Don't take it off. - You'll suffocate.

What are you doing under there?

Protecting my head from the insults that are beating down on me like hail.

- You knew this would happen. - l didn't.

You said you didn't care what people thought.

Never been this bad,

they were attacking the painting with umbrellas.

l know.

Should roll up my canvasses and put them in the attic?

You can't do that.

- Oh l won't let you. - You can't stop me.

Yes l can.

lt was a shock.

A vitriol they unleashed on him.

For a painting.

People had never seen anything like it.

A prostitute, staring at them so brazenly, from the canvas.

Do you think that gave them the right to drive him out of the country?

- You're an art critic. - lt was shocking.

He left the country, fled to Spain.

Really?

l thought he'd taken a trip to look at Velasquith and Goya.

l thought you'd come to ask me about my life and my friends.

lf you think you know my life better than l do,

why don't you write it and let me get on with living it.

You've got to face facts you're not gonna get it finished,

it's as big as the side of a house.

What am l gonna do?

- What do you think? - lt's not your colour.

l'm gonna do a family group on a terrace.

l've hired this for one of the women.

Why are you on the floor?

Who is this man dishevelled and motionless,

lying on the floor for hours, without moving?

He is an artist.

l'm finished.

Metaphorically rather than literally.

The salon deadline's in four day, you'll have nothing to enter.

- l wondered if you'd come? - Well why wouldn't l?

l thought maybe l dreamed our meeting in the street.

Well perhaps you did and perhaps you're dreaming this too.

l hope not.

You're far too lovely to be just a figment of the artist's mind.

- ls this your studio? - lt's a friend's.

He lets me borrow it, and his paint.

So you're not a very successful artist then?

Not yet.

l haven't done this before.

Do you want me to, to sit somewhere?

- Just as you are. - But l've got my back to you.

Put your handbag where it was.

l'm afraid l'm gonna keep you standing there for quite some time.

l thought we might like a little plum brandy.

- Thank you. - Home made.

l accept all this will become just a story,

a story with it's own momentum.

- l'm sorry l didn't mean... - No, no, no.

You reach a point in your life where all those around you start to die,

it happens.

And as they die they leave you with the odd canvas, a keepsake.

They leave their children and their stories.

lt'll happen to you.

Monet!

Monet, it's been accepted,

woman in the green dress, by the salon.

Oh. Sorry, sorry.

Yes!

Manet, congratulations. lt's a masterpiece.

Bravo.

Thank you l, l don't have anything in this year.

Monet, Manet,

Monet, Manet, Monet, Manet, Monet

Manet!

For the first time in my life l'm being congratulated

for a painting at the salon.

But l didn't think you had one in this year.

l haven't, it's some sort of hoax,

some idiot who's name sounds like mine.

Who's is this Monet, who's taking advantage of my notoriety?

l very much wanted to meet Manet.

l was sure we would understand each other.

l saw a kindred spirit.

He saw someone with a maliciously similar name.

He thought l had somehow taken something from him, and l had,

but not in the way he thought.

l'd taken strength from him, inspiration.

Because of my name, that one letter's difference,

the very last person who would ever want to upset him

had made him desperately unhappy.

Why have you done nothing to halt the flow of mud

that calls at me continually?

l write about your work.

This latest piece about the Place Vandom exhibition.

This is what you write about my paintings.

Monsieur Manet showed a philosopher trampling oyster shells

and a watercolour of his Christ with angels.

- Well that's not bad. - lt's no anything.

My work has been called ugly, and vulgar, inconsistent, naive.

And in the face of this l've continued to paint,

and tried to make my voice heard.

You know l need all the help l can get or l may not survive this.

You know that, Dorante.

l have supported you, in the face of outrage.

l've supported you to the public and to the Marques.

l have never written anything nENative about your work.

There's no need to take offence.

Will you apologise?

Of course he wouldn't.

He was frustrated.

And because he wasn't as brave as he thought he was.

He took it out not on his enemies, but on one of his friends.

Dorante l, l'm sorry, l'm so sorry.

lt's fine, l'm fine.

lt wasn't the best or most polite of duels,

but blood was drawn, honour was satisfied.

And the story of Manet's duelling with Dorante became something of a lENend.

l confess the painting that held my attention longest

is woman in a green dress.

lt speaks volume to me about energy and truth, Emile Zollar.

Brite, more champagne, l'm buying.

You haven't sold the painting yet.

No but l've just sold another one for eight hundred francs.

Well you will have spent that by the end of the evening.

lt could all be down hill from here.

Or uphill.

To hills, up or down.

- Hills. - Hills.

Manet!

- lntroduce me, Bazille. - But he hates you.

- But he hates my name. - Don't make things any worse.

- They can't get any worse. - He nearly killed Dorante.

lt could get a lot worse.

Monsieur Manet, may l introduce you to a very dear friend of mine.

Claude Monet, very much wanted to meet you, sir.

The future of art owes so much to you.

And the present, the present and the future.

You painted woman in a green dress.

Yes l did.

lt's a fine painting.

So fine it was mistaken for one of mine.

May l join you?

- Of course, please. - Here, have my chair.

Finally l had met him, and l was not disappointed.

Butjust as everything was fitting into place,

l received news which would change my life.

Camille.

l will help out with whatever money l can but...

Will we be together?

lt's not possible, if l stay with you

my father will cut me off, l'll get nothing.

- Because that's what l'm worth? - No.

Because l'm not good enough for you.

Of course you're good enough,

you're more than good enough, but we need money.

l stood there in that green dress for four days

when you needed a painting for the salon.

l was there when you needed me.

Are you gonna recognise this child?

Cause if you don't, Claude, we've nothing left to say to each other.

Claude?

l returned to Le Havre, to spend some time with my father.

- Oh sorry, what was l saying? - About your family.

You were saying you returned to the coast,

so you could spend some time with your family.

Oh l'm sorry l'm making you tired.

Oh no, no you're making me remember.

My family have been very good to me,

they're enthusiasm my every brush stroke.

What if she dies?

What about, what about the baby?

lt's due on the eighth.

My father has asked me to abandon her.

He says that l should know what she's worth,

and what she deserves.

Oh, what does she deserve?

lt's impossible without my father's support.

What if l was to buy one of your paintings?

Women in the garden.

l'll pay you in instalments. Fifty francs a month.

That's very kind of you.

Things don't always work out the way we want them to, do they?

And more often than not the odds are stacked against us.

But that doesn't seem to stop us going after them.

They're impossible dreams.

lmpossible dreams.

By buying my painting, Bazille enabled me to do the right thing.

Camille.

Camille.

- Camille. - l've got work to do.

- l went to your rooms. - l have to do the washing.

l'm sorry.

You've come back?

lt was the best and the worst thing l could have done.

My family cut my allowance, just as they said they would.

The money from the paintings l'd sold had gone.

Camille gave birth to a big and beautiful boy, Jean.

We couldn't afford to stay in Paris anymore.

We drifted from place to place,

sometimes not knowing where we'd stay that night.

Completely reliant on those few francs from Bazille.

l spent my days painting out of doors, watching my baby become a boy.

lt must have looked idyllic,

my dear little family, the river, the light.

But no everything was as it seemed.

You don't know what money is until you don't have it.

You don't know what a family is until you do.

Paris seemed a very long way away.

Everyone was still there, struggling as ever to sell their paintings.

- Morning. - Well good morning.

Aha Monet, ha, ha. How's my godson?

He's got a bruise on his head the size of billiard ball.

Upholding the Monet traditional of trying to run before he can walk.

- More coffee? - Yes.

l'm not saying come and see flawless works,

l'm saying come and see sincere works.

Have you hired a gallery?

- l've erected a stall. - He's erected a pavilion.

Attempting something new in art will always be a struggle,

l accept that. But my works should at least be shown.

lf the salon so often reject me, l must take the matter into my own hands.

- How do people like it? - People don't like it at all.

Even if he sold every single painting he'd still make a loss.

Your mother won't like it when she realises

she's not gonna see her eighteen thousand francs again.

Eighteen thousand?

You'd do the same if you could afford it.

l'm happy merely to work.

ln the morning l bathe, l put on my nine franc fifty dressing gown

and say to myself this is the life of the worker.

Workers don't wear floral dressing gowns.

Well it depends what sort of workers they are.

Work is the soul refuge.

Cezanne! Do you know everybody?

Manet, may l introduce Monsieur Paul Cezanne, Edouard Manet.

l would shake your hand but l, l haven't washed for a week.

Only a week.

You know people say that a sugar basin has no face, has no soul.

Even those glasses are talking amongst themselves.

Unfortunately the man is as incomprehensible to me as his work.

Oh he finds company rather hard.

Not as hard as he finds painting.

We knew what we wanted to do, paint real life in the open air.

And if we didn't know how to achieve what our instincts told us,

we were sustained by each other's enthusiasm.

l heard that men and women are allowed to swim together at La Grenouillere.

l thought you were more interested in nature.

l didn't say l was gonna paint them.

- Do they wear clothes? - You're about to find out.

As long as l can wear clothes.

Oh you have to leave them at the station.

Didn't you know? They give you a locker to put them in.

What?

- What do you think? - l'm not dressing like that.

Come on.

What do you see?

l see life, people and their stories.

What about you?

l see a square of blue an oblong of pink.

And a dozen models eager to be studied.

And the light dancing on the ripples of the water.

Life as it's being lived right in front of our eyes exactly as we see it.

That's what we'll paint.

The colours are very loud.

- Do you like it? - No, l do.

l think you've really done something.

You know we can never go back from this moment.

- You stopping? - l'm stopping.

They say it isn't finished.

lt's complete.

That's a manly piece of painting.

Close your eyes.

Open them, what do you see?

A bunch of flowers, l think.

Close your eyes, open.

Purple flowers, eh yellow flowers.

No, close them.

keep them closed. What's really there?

Balls of colour, yellow, purple, green.

That was La Grenouillere.

l looked nature in the eyes and l saw her clearly as she was,

on that day, in that place, for the very first time.

ls this what you called impressionism?

By nature, yes but not yet by name.

That's what l saw, we captured the world, and with it,

somewhere on the canvas, amidst the colours and the layers,

what Renoir would have called, our destiny.

Yes there's no need to actually play it.

l'm doing a painting of the execution of emperor Maximilian of Mexico

with the executioners in French army uniforms.

The executioners were Mexican.

As far as l'm concerned,

our great emperor Napoleon the third was responsible.

He put him on the Mexican throne,

and when things dragged on he abandoned him.

- Edouard, you're shouting. - Sorry.

You must be careful, these are dangerous times.

All my working life

l've been told what l should and shouldn't paint.

Where and what l can exhibit.

How can there be art when there's no truth.

They censored him completely.

Not only did they refuse to exhibit the painting,

they even banned any prints being made of it.

He was like a sign post for us, showing us the way.

lt's just ridiculous for an intelligent person to expose themselves

to administrative caprice of the salon, year after year.

l mean especially when awards and medals hold absolutely no interest at all.

Um but what choice have we got?

We send our work to the salon because we have to,

not because we want to

when there isn't anywhere else to send it.

l've had one piece accepted, that's all, ever.

You're right.

We make no money we have no success.

We end up alone with no outlet for our work just like Manet says.

We should have an exhibition like Manet's.

- Manet's was a disaster. - lt doesn't matter.

You, Renoir, myself, DENas, Cezanne, Manet.

Let's rent a studio where we can exhibit all the works we want.

Hang them just as we like.

And who's gonna pay for it? Manet's mother?

l'll speak to my family.

Really?

We're a very attractive proposition.

- Are we? - We'll be a huge success.

Everything was changing.

Just when it seemed we had found our way,

we had no idea.

There we go, go, go the little marionette.

There we go, go, go turn around and.

Camille and l were married.

lt was eighteen seventy, June eighteen seventy.

We went on our honeymoon to Trois Ville.

Then war broke out, nothing would be the same again.

Louis Napoleon declared war on Prussia, ah!

lt all happened so suddenly.

All my friends, everyone dashing off in different directions.

You're and idiot. Have you even thought about this at all?

l have.

What if you get killed huh? Have you thought about that?

Of course l have,

and most likely the war will be over in a couple of weeks.

You don't know that.

Unless we want the Kaiser to take over our land

someone's got to go and fight.

Not you.

lt's in my interest to defend France.

l shouldn't expect other people to do it for me.

Why do you always have to do the honourable thing?

Why can't you just let somebody else do it, for once?

Don't be angry with me.

With Paris under siENe,

DENas and Manet enlisted as gunners in the National Guard.

There's talk that the Prussians are closing in on Paris.

They'll probably starve us out.

Be that or the smallpox.

l don't know if l can bear it DENas.

They're sending boys into battle,

boys.

lt's so deathly sad.

l got this at the butchers.

What is it, horse?

All the horses have been eaten, it's rat.

When all this is over, we can serve it up to the cowards who left.

lt wasn't that l wanted to leave my friends to it.

And it wasn'tjust me. Plenty of people left.

l wanted to look after my family, that's who l wanted to protect.

Camille and Jean joined me in England,

where l'd found us somewhere to live.

- Look Jean this is England. - Nice.

ln London l was fascinated by the ever changing shades of gray,

too many to mix on one palette.

No country could be more extraordinary for an artist.

l often thought of my friends, back in France.

Poor Renoir was conscripted and fell very ill with dysentery.

Bazille was posted to Burgundy.

And his father went to Burgundy to collect the body

doted on Bazille.

Found his son's corpse in a ditch.

Twenty nine...

The very first day l met Bazille he was a true friend,

gave what he had.

Would have made a name for himself.

And then we found our subject again.

We returned. As we travel we return.

And what do you return to?

Light on water, clouds and sky.

For years we'd struggled for something.

And just when we thought our time was coming

it seemed we had even further to go.

How do you do?

Monsieur l'm the artist, Claude Monet.

l would like to paint your station.

l don't think so.

You have no future.

They said we were declaring war on beauty.

We need the salon.

How else do you sell your paintings?

l say we start a fire.

With an exhibition of our own.

With no jury no Marquis.

We paint what we want, we sell what we can.

Jean please.

l can see it already the colours, the lights.

This will be my finest painting yet.

Usually when l do that the gentleman stares at my body.

You never know when to stop.

Your talent, your gift you must do itjustice.

You think l should paint like Monet,

dash them off in a blink of an eye.

- DENas. - Eyes that way.

l love my family.

There is love and there is work

and we have but one heart.

No, take her. l'll take the child.

No one should suffer like that.

Camille.