Claude Monet made "The Artist's House from the Rose Garden," a roughly square oil painting, sometime in his life. It's this fever dream of reds, greens, and yellows, like the world is made of pure sensation. Up close, the paint is thick, almost sculptural. You can practically feel the brushstrokes, see the energy of Monet wrestling with the canvas. There's this one spot, right in the center, where the yellow explodes outwards, like the sun is trying to burn through the leaves. It's raw, immediate, and so physical. Monet reminds me of Gustav Courbet, another painter obsessed with the materiality of paint. But while Courbet was all about the weight and gravity of the world, Monet is chasing something more ephemeral, like trying to catch a feeling before it disappears. Art isn't about answers, it's about the questions we ask along the way.