I’ve been coming to this art gallery for nearly
a week now. At first I just sort of
wandered around aimlessly, initially more interested in the sculptures than the
engravings and paintings. Full
disclosure: I know very little about art, but I needed some kind of inspiration
and figured a visit to the gallery would get me out of my funk. Things haven’t been so great for me these
days. My life is in a state of flux and
I feel like I’m swimming in a sea of self-doubt. Last month I was essentially laid off from my
job of fourteen years, though I was the last person at work to know. I have other issues in my life right now that
I don’t care to share. Well, if you must
know, I’m estranged from my parents and even before the layoff I’d been
experiencing an “existential crisis,” if I can coin that outmoded phrase. So viewing art, and one painting in
particular, has been my only outlet and a diversion from my problems.
The artist managed to create two hearts in one crimson
brushstroke and set it against a wispy, swirling grey background. She called her work simply “A Brushstroke,”
probably to make it absolutely clear that she pulled this image off with one
remarkable move of the hand and wrist. The
artistry and simplicity of this canvas captured my imagination, admittedly not
at the first viewing. I kept coming back
to this painting, as it resonated with my memories and life experience.
Maybe something else brings me here almost every
day. As I stood gazing at this painting
on my second visit to the gallery, I became aware of a woman sitting on an
ottoman near the wall opposite the framed picture. She let me know with a polite clearing of her
throat that I had been obstructing her view.
I moved to the left and offered an apology with my body language. She had been writing or etching something
into a pad of paper, so I assumed she was an art student. Why was she so interested in this painting
too?
You might find it odd that we didn’t interact. I mean, why should we? We’re complete strangers. We exchanged courteous smiles as she got up to leave the gallery an hour later. I thought I saw deep solitude in her eyes, but I later surmised that I was looking at my reflection mirrored back to me. The next day, however, we spoke. She asked me what I thought of the painting. She said she’s getting a masters in art therapy and studying the effect that art can have on a person’s disposition. This painting, she conceded in perhaps an unguarded moment, had captivated her but she didn't know why. I told her I would tell her what I think over coffee at the diner. We stepped outside and walked across a rain-soaked street under an overcast sky.
You might find it odd that we didn’t interact. I mean, why should we? We’re complete strangers. We exchanged courteous smiles as she got up to leave the gallery an hour later. I thought I saw deep solitude in her eyes, but I later surmised that I was looking at my reflection mirrored back to me. The next day, however, we spoke. She asked me what I thought of the painting. She said she’s getting a masters in art therapy and studying the effect that art can have on a person’s disposition. This painting, she conceded in perhaps an unguarded moment, had captivated her but she didn't know why. I told her I would tell her what I think over coffee at the diner. We stepped outside and walked across a rain-soaked street under an overcast sky.
