Without looking up from her phone she says, “sad,” pointing towards the artwork at which she’s only just passed a glance. “I don’t like sad,” she says, then walks away, down the hall towards the bright strobing lights and auto-tuned platitudes, monotone monotonous melody which enslaves her overstimulated brain, the battery of boredom’s knee jerk jumpstart, repetition, four on the floor familiarity with 50 hz chest thumping defibrillation for the un-emotive heart. “Happy,” she says, pointing towards 120 bpm 1-5-6m-4.
“That hotel print of a painting of a daisy should be a bigger part of our lives, don’t you think?”
“Yes dear, I do. Perhaps there’s a Spotify equivalent for the visual arts?”
“Or we could just carry it with us:
-Hotel print of a daisy in the car
-Hotel print of a daisy on a stage
-Hotel print of a daisy for romance
-Hotel print of a daisy on TV and in film
“Marvelous.”
And now for a tangential overflow of autobiographical whimsy:
I paint darkness in layers of contemplative texture, shades of no thing from which all things arise. A great, mindless darkness forms the formless backdrop which takes up most of my canvases, and that which those whom live in shadows of unawareness experience as sorrow, un-stimulating, lulling sadness.
The entire purpose of painting all the darkness is to juxtapose and highlight the subject of all my paintings, that which cannot be contained in words is that towards which I’m always pointing.
Look CLOSER.