Thursday, March 10, 2011

Forgotten Forest Path

One of the more enjoyable parts of being in Detroit (aside from the show itself and getting to meet all those crazy people I assumed up until that point were really monkeys that got themselves iPads) was the Institute of Arts.

I haven't been to many art museums in my life, in fact this last visit would make two. The other was the Chicago one when I first started dating my husband and long before I ever took up a brush with some crazy idea to create my own "masterpieces." So I was a bit excited, giddy even dare I say to wander the halls and stare at paintings understanding more than I ever could have before. (Mostly in how people either like painting landscapes or people. Also hands suck for some and hair for others).

Also, I cannot lie I was more than a tad excited to see their three Van Goth's (probably due to a combination of a few people comparing whatever falls out of my brain to his and the Doctor Who episode - okay mostly the Doctor Who episode). One, my favorite, was of a pair of people out in the field digging. Another of a postman and the last was the painting everyone thinks of when they try to picture Vincent in his little straw hat.

At about this time my husband gets a phone call and wanders off so I have time to really take in the paintings. This, however quickly turned into people watching as crowds would dash in and snap a picture of the more famous Van Goth before scuttling off to the next room.

It felt like the only way to appreciate art anymore was through the viewfinder of a cellphone:
Which I cannot understand, yes you got that button - the badge for having seen a painting in person but you could have just as easily google imaged it from home and saved yourself a trip. Perhaps it's my own struggles with trying to represent my paintings in picture form so I can sell them but nothing compares to seeing the painting in real life. Especially impressionists work, all of the soul is sucked out.

So with all these thoughts rumbling through my head I sat down, with a small bit of canvas board, and out came this:
Perhaps strangest of all, as I added the last touches I started weeping. No good reason for it, I'm still not entirely certain why. But there's a dark sadness caught up in this painting that makes it both hard to look at and hard to look away from.

I'll be sad to see it go but I listed it up for sale because I simply have no room.

And because I am still me and a bit of a jerk I decided to make a bit of fun of all the other painters that photoshop their paintings onto stockphoto rooms to give an idea of what it would look like set up (yeah, sure it wouldn't) without saying that's what they did:
I might occasionally make sad paintings but I'm still a dork.

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