We went to Meadows Museum in Dallas.
I notice proportions on nudes more now than I used to. Since I took my figure drawing and figurative clay sculpture classes, I study the size of the waist, arms, legs, and feet. Do they match or relate to each other? Do they seem to scale?
my random observations:
That crown looks like yellow flames.
She glows through the grey sky.
Somebody looks busted.
Are they strapping him in? Or helping him up?
Dead bird feathers, empty bowl, dinner anyone?
I don’t like this painting it looks like mud and silly putty.
Copper plate shine reflect.
Grey, somber, white, dark ghost, pallor flesh beneath trying to show through.
Bird on her halo whispers in her ear coming from a ray of sun angel wings.
They are drinking and blowing smoke rings. They look like a joke.
Oh, it’s the ocean! There’s the beach, and I can see all the colors in the water.
Klimt’s Three Standing Women they are naked except their garter belts and stockings.
He’s cut up and bleeding. She holds his damaged hand covering the wound with her thumb. But all I can see are her wings, sky aqua teal blue with traces of grey.
I love the artist Joan Miro his childlike happy bold colors on white backgrounds outlined in black.
Andy Warhol’s Jean Cousteau a name in the lips.
He flatters her. I wonder if he’s in love, or just trying to get paid well.
Mariano Fortuny I Marsal watercolor, pencil Portrait of A Girl. Her face, hair, hands, jewelry are in color. Her dress is all white except for the blood coming from the right side of her hip. Her face is somber waiting for it to end.
His face is soft. He is a man that has gentleness, but he doesn‘t look weak.
Peace dove in the center shines a star halo over her head. Soft peach, blush pink, orange, and powder blue clouds and angel cherubs surround her.
He’s in pain. He’s suffering in his dark cave. I’ve been there. He’s staring at a skull. He’s clutching his chest cause his heart hurts.
A painting of Venice I want to go there, and see the laundry hanging from the balcony, the crowded buildings, the cobbled streets, and the gondolas! But I don’t want to smell the sewer.
Her halo is like rays of sun. Her face like a model. Why is she standing on three babies’ heads? She’s above a city divided. One side has mountains, evergreens and a fountain. The other side is a desert, palm trees, and a well.
He goes to the older one with the open book. The one he thinks has the wisdom. The older one doesn’t know the answer either.
I ask who is the focal point in the painting? It’s her, not him. He’s blushing see? There eyes are looking down and their heads are facing towards him. But she is who you see first. She’s the one you can’t stop looking at.
She looks exposed. She thinks she’s covered herself. But you can see through a spot in her clothes. Her head is turned unknowing. Her skin is showing. She keeps focused. Her finger is pointing. She is reading outloud. She is only concentrating on what she is doing.
ZHe wears a ruffled collar, ruffled sleeves, a long trail of buttons on his coat, a big hat. A clown with a sad face.
She’s in Paris cause I can see the Eiffel Tower. She is alone. Is she waiting? Is that her closed book on the chair beside her? On the other table a full mug of beer sits with a folded newspaper. She overlooks the city below. Her clothes are stylish. She has money. She wears a stack of gold bracelets and a gold ring with blue stones. Her black shoes with bows reflect her blue skirt with lace on one side. She is wearing a red hat with a red ribbon tied around her chin. Her umbrella is closed, all red with a bow.
She’s holding him. He’s sick. He’s dying. He is green and grey. His lips are blue. She is heartbroken.
There’s a girl with a ribbon in her hair. She wears a gold hoop in her ear. There is peach, rust, orange, white, blue, grey and yellow. She has empty dishes and bundles in her arms. She is going somewhere. She looks up. She has hope.
