There’s this one piece of abstract art that always catches my attention.
It looks so simple as a whole. So minimal yet so mesmerizing. The careful thought and consideration the artist put into the composition scares me. Perhaps it’s the perfection that scares me… or maybe it’s the intertwining of the layers which repels me. The layers upon layers of paint prevents me to see the innermost layer, a layer most important to any art piece. I knew that to actually understand the piece, I have to look beyond the obvious layers, so I tried to look.
I never knew how I became attracted to this art piece. I remember walking past it. It didn’t exactly stand out amongst the other paintings; rather, it was stored in the dim corner of the gallery. However, the more I walked away from it, the more it caught my attention. It was as if the dim aura around the art piece created a unique environment for me to appreciate and admire the mysteriously minimal painting in the corner.
I wanted to understand it. I wanted to know it like a friend. I wanted to know it like something dear to me. Yet, I found myself exploring the composition at the wrong places. I missed hints that allowed me to find what I was looking for, and after a while, I just got distracted by another painting.
This other painting was different. Although it was in a shy corner of the gallery, soft bright lights bounced off the frames like the light of dawn reflecting off a white bed sheet. It was refreshing to be able to understand this painting and it spoke to me like no other painting had before. It’s white backgrounds were covered by fine black ink. The drawings were a little hastily drawn, and some parts weren’t completely developed but it spoke out to me nonetheless. Contrary to the abstract piece, I felt that I can understand this piece of artwork. However, the more I dug into this painting, the more uncomfortable I felt about it. Maybe it was its imperfections or maybe I was getting too comfortable knowing all the details behind the artist. It just didn’t feel right. Soon, the gallery had to send the piece to another museum, so I too said goodbye to the piece.
That one piece of abstract painting still hung quietly in its corner, so I decided to approach it again.
I read the books and reviews about the painting but it didn’t help me understand the piece much. Then one day, I stumbled across the author’s biography in the bookshelves of the public library. Flipping through the pages allowed me to understand many layers that were unclear before. These layers connoted many things I did not realize. The meaning behind the painting was nothing like I thought it would be. I was frustrated and angry, but mostly confused.
Why would the artist have such intentions whilst creating the painting? The whole time when I thought I can resonate with the meaning behind the art piece, was I wrong? Just a few pages into the biography and I already felt like I can no longer appreciate this piece like I use to.
For a while, I despised abstract art. However, that faded away after a year or two.
That piece of art is still in the gallery, only now it’s revealing some of its colors under a brighter light. I still look at it from time to time without realizing that I’m doing it. Maybe that’s the beauty of the piece. It attracts you when you least expected it.
mesmerize me daily 