I have always been a lover of fine art. The masterful use of lighting, shadows and color is something worthy of close inspection and study.
But never before have I been so moved by the perceptible three-dimensional aspects of art, as I was during my last visit to the Louvre. I’ve been to Paris on three separate occasions, and I visited the Louvre every single time. Oddly enough this last trip was very special.
This time I was entranced. I literally lost track of how long I watched and pondered at one point in particular, subconsciously recognizing that I was observing a miracle of life depicted before me. It was as if the artist breathed more than just the spirit of life into this work. It had soul and it spoke to me.
I also found character and personality and no small amount of drama. I watched with anticipation, wondering what tricks my eyes would play on me during what appeared to be the unfolding of a delicious three-dimensional tableau.
It was all the more a diabolical composition, because as much as the eye naturally tries to move from left to right… the subject matter all but demands that my attention scan from right to left, thereby setting up dramatic conflict since two of the subjects are engaged with something going on to the right... off camera as it were.
And do I dare comment on the array of textures presented before me?
It’s as if the viewer is suddenly privy to a live action scene... at the very beginning of (what we assume to be) the fourth clear and powerful action, which was somehow interrupted by some unseen activity. The eye cannot help itself from running back and forth... back and forth.
Truly fine art leaves you oddly satisfied, yet still hungry for more.