Who Needs TV when You Can Watch a Painting

When I look at a painting, the artist speaks to me. I can picture the painter at work at his easel, making the brush strokes, mixing the paint and pigments. I see the blank parts of the canvas and the colors and I can almost imagine what they are thinking. And I listen carefully. Whatever the picture is, its elements are telling a story, conveying a feeling, offering a sensation of the mind, or giving a message. Sometimes it reveals a secret, a chance to look into the artist's mind. Much like a writer is vulnerable, and bleeds onto the pages, the painter bleeds himself onto his canvas.

I look at the paintings from two perspectives. First the spectator- I stand back and view, taking it in and noticing how and which way the work catches my eye. I catch a mood, a feeling from the piece. Next I play the role of amateur artist, studying it, observing the technique- up close, the brushstrokes, the detail. I always pay attention to which colors were used- which colors straight from the tube mixed to form the palettes. Then I step back again, note the arrangement of objects, the composition, the balance, number of figures, etc. Of course this is done almost sub-consciously. But you can't measure a painting's worth concretely like that. You must feel the painting, catch the vibe from it. You can't see into the artist's soul by computing a pictorial space as you would solve a math equation.

Not only is enjoying a painting a leap into a mind, but it is a bound into another time. The paint on a board of wood, applied in 1150 AD, has collected the dust of centuries and is as real now in front of your face as it was to its creator, who also has been dust for centuries. Not just the artists who executed these works but the subjects, too, give us a glimpse of another age. You look at the Duke of Urbino, posing stately in royal garb, and you may wonder what he was thinking. Or the peasants portrayed by Jean-Francois Millet in their daily plight, who really were these people?