Saturday, February 21, 2015
An embossed painting like this confuses me. I can’t think of thick sunshine or murky waters in shades so light. Never would I want to walk into the waves because of the fear of losing out on my fluidity. I may end up as a still life or become as still as the wave there. Only night is thick, hiding in its depths secrets of the heart. The heart that is impalpable, never ceasing to venture into the unknown. The blood thickens with the onset of darkness and becomes as black as the night itself. The thickness of the night is the thickness of one’s soul.
Only Vincent Van Gogh could have done justice to this palette. His thick strokes are never static. They are alive ,breathing in every subtle mood of the moment and manifesting themselves on the hard course canvass of life in a way that makes you want to be a stroke of his brush. Just a powerful stroke. (if anyone knows who the artist of this painting is please let me know!)
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