Yesterday my friend and I went to a fine art show and saw some wonderful artists' works that thrilled us. I especially liked these paper watercolor works by Rachel Davis, paintings by Joachim Hiller and paintings on wood by Robert Nugent. What discoveries for me! We looked at them for a long time, then met a friend and had a soda, then came around again to gaze some more. What a mystery it is which art speaks to us. And it tells us each something different. Of course, if I could have had anything in the building, I would have picked a Colima preColumbian puppy, or a Deborah Butterfield horse, or maybe a painting by Leonora Fini. Who knows? I get to see them all and pursue them in museums, and I don't really have any desire to possess them.
As we were driving to the show, my friend wondered about the emotional draw of art, and we were saying that conceptual art can have a limitation in that it appeals to the mind, but not the heart. But we both enjoy engaging with a lot of different art, because it shows us how miraculous the mind is. The creation of art is universal and its power indescribable, really. And at the same time, it's so personal. We all have associations that pull us in, of color, subject, size. Then we have emotional pulls that connect us to the artist, and we have all these ideas from theories of art and experience that mix in with pure response. Sharing what we see together is one of the fun things my friend and I do, as well as discussing books we've read or music we've experienced.
And this wonderful thing happens when we really connect with a piece - we sort of memorize it in our minds and hearts and can call it up when we wish. I was telling her about seeing Brueghel's Fall of Icarus at the Musee de Beaux Arts in Brussels, Belgium, almost 20 years ago. I've never seen it live again, though I have a print of it. Yet I can transport myself to the museum and "see" it now, and re-feel those emotions of delight, sorrow, humor, awe and deep sensual lusciousness still. The Star Trek transporters have nothing on me. And in that moment of remembering, I am present, again, and knowing that something in me has forever altered. I find the existence of this painting comforts me, even guides me in my understanding and coping with the world I'm in. There is the real, and there is the real moment, recaptured, and most importantly, re-felt, for which all humans ought to be grateful. I know I am.
I too had a print of ICARUS and can still see the green of the water beckoning below. One's mind would think when will he fall ? Please don't let him fall. And the world just went on around him as usual.
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