Writing

Art At Its Finest

I’ve been talking about art in the last couple of posts because the pieces struck me and I wanted to write about them. Even though I didn’t write as much as I wanted to, no matter what, I couldn’t do the piece justice. Not only that, I don’t have the words to depict and analyze a painting. How does one even begin to discuss a painting without going off on a tangent and describing every little detail about it?

Like this painting my mom used to have. It was of a mother and baby. The mother’s holding the baby at the it’s bottom so it can sit up right for the painting and gazing at it adoringly. The baby, however, is starting straight out  from the painting. It’s like it knows you’re there and it’s staring right into your eyes, penetrating you. To me, it was creepy. I felt like the baby was staring into my soul and could pull it out with its glance. It gave me the creeps to say the least. Every time I walked by it, I could feel it’s eyes following me wherever I go.

That probably wasn’t a good example, but I could sit here and describe how white the mother and baby’s clothes were, how I couldn’t tell what gender the baby is and how the mother is turned slightly to her side facing the baby and how you can’t see her arms much, but you know she’s holding the baby.

I’m probably not making much sense…but then again, when do I ever?

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