Mostly not good feelings going on in this one!
I am moved by the Martin of the sky..suffused with blue grey foreboding, hints of pink and purple breaking, sheets of cloud full of the possibility of light;
I am moved by the yellow leaping, lighting the canvas grabbing my eyes like a flashlight.
And the blues energized by the texture of the stroking.
The Martin of the insect legs, and tentacles and faces….I do not understand him….kind of a Jean Dubuffet perhaps, kind of a commentator, but also somehow separate. Applying graffiti on the works of a talented colorist?!
“The Martin of the insect legs, and tentacles and faces….I do not understand him”
Welborne, the adventure here is art in the service of theater, finding the story, seeing the eyes and mouths, creating the set. The deliciousness of colors and shapes a prelude to setting the stage.
“I would not paint—a picture—
I’d rather be the One
Its bright impossibility
And wonder how the fingers feel
Evokes so sweet a Torment—
Such sumptuous—Despair—” (fr. Emily Dickinson)
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