With their tendency to paint or to at least contemplate painting out in the open, their thick and hurried brushstrokes, vivid use of colour, and nuanced portrayals of mutable light, still today the canvases of the French Impressionists appear unusually sensitive, hearty and graceful, vibrant and fresh.
Yet beauty is not only in the eye of the beholder, but also an aspect of his or her mind, and one of the best ways to unburden the pants of your prospective lover is to showcase the depth of your knowledge in art. Everybody has heard of at least a few of the Impressionists – from Monet to Cézanne, from Renoir to Degas – even if they are sometimes overshadowed by those who came after, like Cézanne when he was older, Gauguin, and Van Gogh.
In this case curiosity allied to a dearth of information suits you well. Because the following oblique pick-up or chat-up lines suggest profundity, which with even a modicum of attraction lies in the direction of the bed. Use these lines, drawn from the lives of the Impressionist masters, to make the would-be objects of your affection positively swoon.
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Monet in his later years could barely see thanks to cataracts, but just like the blind man in his pond garden, I too seem drawn to beauty.
* * *
Why not weekend in Paris with me, for I know a few pleasant spots in the vicinity of Montmartre?
* * *
A mere glimpse of you in this transient sunlight, and enraptured I set quickly to my work. A few rapid strokes and I am done, so to speak, as the paint covers the canvas in eager spurts.
* * *
Just as Cézanne said of his canvases, amid the scattered pieces of nature, best to join our straying hands.
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As was the case with Old Man Pissarro, I am humble and beneficent when it comes to my friends. But unlike the aged Impressionist, I am capable of vigour with much more than my brush.
* * *
Contrary to Degas who was so fond of dancers, no contortion is needed for you to win my appreciative gaze.
* * *
Alas Pierre-Auguste suffered rheumatoid arthritis, and according to rumour struggled to hold onto his brush. But holding you my dear would cause me no struggle, my arms lingering lightly about your generous waist.
* * *
Meet me beneath the rose bushes without your undergarments, and if it is not too thorny we can paint with our bodies en plein air.
