Winslow Homer. Thought I didn't care for his work. I'd seen pics in books and catalogs, ho hum. Coastal landscapes, so what?
Saw an exhibit at the Portland Museum of Art today and wow. Blew me away. How could he so completely capture the smell, feel, and sound of the Maine coast with... take a closer look, scattered daubs of paint?
It seemed like magic to me.
From across the room I could see the power of the wave. Violence, Maureen said. "The wave is violent. Dave says 'powerful', but I say 'violent.'" Dave is Maureen's husband and they are in Portland celebrating Maureen's birthday.
We had brunch at a funky downtown bistro; coffee & breakfast burritos all around. We walked to the museum and admired Paul Akers' Dead Pearl Diver. I was again surprised at the breadth of the collection: Matisse, Rodin, Renoir, Hartley, Ipcar, Cassat, Picasso, Indiana, Nevelson, Monet, and Calder.
But it was the Homer exhibit that surprised me. Oils and watercolors. I was enthralled with the foggy coastal scene. How could a flat grayish-brown blur be so compelling? Rocks, water, and sky are so difficult to capture- he did it- and conveyed violence, solitude, and fortitude.
I especially like the ones with people- and they were mostly women: strong working seaside women. They wore long skirts and slim boots as they hauled fishing nets and traps. Their facial expressions were chiseled, far-seeing, focused, and serious.
I looked at the paintings from as far away as I could get, then slowly approached, as close as I could. It was an optical illusion. From afar: a perfect scene. like the ho-hum magazine photo of the Maine coast. As I approached, the scene broke up into planes of light, rectangles of rock, a cloudy froth of sea-foam, the smooth flow of a receding wave, or a bramble of seaweed. Closer and it was blobs of paint, swirls of color, scrapes and ridges.
There were two with animals. One was a flock of Canada geese in flight. Two were on the ground, at least one was dead. Both? Maybe one was keening the loss of it's mate. The other painting was a fox in the snow. Ravens seemed to be threatening, perhaps attacking. Again: violence, grief, estrangement.
Most paintings were dark, desolate, and conflicted. Yeah, I liked them. Who knew.
Saw an exhibit at the Portland Museum of Art today and wow. Blew me away. How could he so completely capture the smell, feel, and sound of the Maine coast with... take a closer look, scattered daubs of paint?
It seemed like magic to me.
From across the room I could see the power of the wave. Violence, Maureen said. "The wave is violent. Dave says 'powerful', but I say 'violent.'" Dave is Maureen's husband and they are in Portland celebrating Maureen's birthday.
We had brunch at a funky downtown bistro; coffee & breakfast burritos all around. We walked to the museum and admired Paul Akers' Dead Pearl Diver. I was again surprised at the breadth of the collection: Matisse, Rodin, Renoir, Hartley, Ipcar, Cassat, Picasso, Indiana, Nevelson, Monet, and Calder.
But it was the Homer exhibit that surprised me. Oils and watercolors. I was enthralled with the foggy coastal scene. How could a flat grayish-brown blur be so compelling? Rocks, water, and sky are so difficult to capture- he did it- and conveyed violence, solitude, and fortitude.
I especially like the ones with people- and they were mostly women: strong working seaside women. They wore long skirts and slim boots as they hauled fishing nets and traps. Their facial expressions were chiseled, far-seeing, focused, and serious.
I looked at the paintings from as far away as I could get, then slowly approached, as close as I could. It was an optical illusion. From afar: a perfect scene. like the ho-hum magazine photo of the Maine coast. As I approached, the scene broke up into planes of light, rectangles of rock, a cloudy froth of sea-foam, the smooth flow of a receding wave, or a bramble of seaweed. Closer and it was blobs of paint, swirls of color, scrapes and ridges.
There were two with animals. One was a flock of Canada geese in flight. Two were on the ground, at least one was dead. Both? Maybe one was keening the loss of it's mate. The other painting was a fox in the snow. Ravens seemed to be threatening, perhaps attacking. Again: violence, grief, estrangement.
Most paintings were dark, desolate, and conflicted. Yeah, I liked them. Who knew.
