I adore oil paintings, as there is something intrinsically beautiful about the medium. I love stumbling across an oil painting with such vibrancy and life that I can’t help but smile. Color that jumps out of the painting and literally grabs hold of you, leaving you completely breathless, is a priceless sensation.
When I lived in New Mexico in 1995, I remember taking a long drive through the desert from Albuquerque to Santa Fe, listening to my warn out Cranberries tape on full blast. Coming upon the southern tip of the city, red dirt blanketing the freeway, I saw an art gallery just off to my right with a big wooden door sheltering it from the afternoon light. Curiosity piqued, I quickly exited, dust covering the entire back end of my black Subaru, and pulled into the makeshift driveway.
Inside, the gallery was pristine with gleaming white plaster walls and rustic wooden beams running across the ceiling, giving it both a professional yet cozy feeling. And as I walked across the creaky wooden floor, unnoticed by an attendant, I spotted a flaming red corner of a canvas propped against the back wall. The painting, upon closer inspection, was not only gigantic, but absolutely breathtaking. 3 emaciated looking American Indians sat exhausted, head held low, on equally pathetic looking horses. Their legs and arms were twice the size of their bony bodies, painted in a thick black oil texture. But the painting itself conveyed more than an overwhelming heaviness or exhaustion, because the colors behind the men on horse were so vibrant and alive with various shades of red, orange, yellow and purple that you felt an urge to block the sun from your eyes. The colors conveyed hope, maybe a voyage that would end in something so powerful and peaceful that the current state of pain would completely cease to exist.
I stood in front of that painting for what felt like hours, though most likely, only moments had passed. To date, I have no idea who the artist was, as my 19 year old self was too timid to ask the very professional looking attendant, but the painting has been forever etched in my mind.
The painting you see above was taken along the coast in Collioure in Southern France. There was large sign that stated with perfect clarity, “No Photos”, but I couldn’t help myself. Walking innocently infront of the canves, with my tiny little Cannon hid under jacked, drapped over my crossed arms, I snapped in rapid speed sans flash just when the perfect moment arose. It’s not the perfect picture, but I think it captures exactly how color alone can instantanously effect the world around it.
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