Week 120

When I was small I used to look at impressionistic paintings, squint my eyes like those in the museum with fancy shoes did, murmuring and nodding. Discovering  it wasn’t the magic key to understanding what they were seeing, I’d throw my miniature arms up in frustration. I thought all impressionism was soft colors and soft strokes, almost as if they didn’t have enough strength to demand to be a real painting.

My mother was my first teacher of course, bringing me to museums, and showing me her own paintings. It took some time though, a lot of desire and a lot of paintings of my own to finally really understand. In a time where photography exists, there is little need for absolute realism. There will however, always be a need to see through the eyes of another. It will be slanted or different than your own sight, because the vantage point is not your own. To allow yourself to see from another’s view is a practice in patience and wonder. As Picasso said, “Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth...” Only in the distortion can we experience that truth. 

Art is a visual experience that gives our other senses sensation. Here, the motion from dry brushing allows the viewer to feel the warm push of wind across their face and hear it whisper through the tall grasses. The heat and chroma in the field make one squint just a little with the pain of the sun’s direct light. The bold strokes around his body puffing into the horizon makes my nose crinkle and mouth dry with anticipation of the taste of the cloud of dust to follow. The juncture of hard metal and loud massive tires with the softness of the crop beneath bring both the tension of anticipation and the peace of routine. 

In looking back, I see that small girl, eyes skewed with determination, and know that actually the strength of the painting comes primarily in its’ ability to show you its’ truth. It is pure sensation. Can you feel it?

The Crop

11x 14.5 | Oil on Panel