some paintings make you stare at it from afar, afraid you'd taint it's beauty if you dared a step closer. as if you'll give it a flaw, an ugly smear in the middle and even if you so badly want to touch it, to savor the clots of oil and acrylic across the canvas, you're fearful of it's surreal beauty to fade from your fingers.
while some, they draw you in.
they make you run to it, run your fingers across the lacing of color on the linen. they lure you, your eyes and consciousness to empathize with it's vibrance and hue – or sometimes, even the lack of it. they make you want to undress it, tear off it's layers to reveal the anger, the blood, the cries, the passion and the love hidden beneath. these paintings make you not only watch it's lines and curves and shapes but listen, listen to the story it sings with the melody of color.
they make you want to tear it apart to look for flaws, and you'll find many but none at all at the same time. they make you, the viewer, feel the need also to strip and fill your gaps with blues and yellows of acrylic and oil, to see how just much of it's flawed, human and honest beauty you resemble as your unique canvas.
Comments
You must be logged in to comment.