He died in 1926. But what if he hadn't — what if the man who chased light for sixty years was still standing in his garden at Giverny this morning, brush in hand, eyes narrowed at the surface of the pond?

He would not repaint his old motifs. Monet never painted the same scene the same way twice. He painted what was in front of him, in the light of that exact hour. He painted his time. So we taught a machine to do the same — to inhabit his patience, his palette, his obsession with weather — and to look at the world of 2026, with its delivery vans behind the willows and its wind turbines past the poplars, and to paint, slowly, in front of you, what he might have painted today.