5 works of art hang confidently on the stark wall, delighted in being perused by their painter's family. Two of them are white, paper-mache canvases adorned with clumpy yet bright puzzle pieces. The others set in frames are more streamlined, clear. I prefer the white masses on the walls -- I imagine they would look well in a children's library.
The artist is young and humble, he crosses his arms, unaccustomed to his family's fawning; his grandmother smiles proudly and takes lopsided photographs on her digital camera from 2005; his grandfather walks around with his hands in his pockets, the sun glancing off his glasses to shadow his eyes. They had stood in front of my table for a couple minutes to examine artwork behind my head. I felt my jaw tighten and my forehead tense under their scrutiny. I imagine these paintings feel the same odd sensation I do when someone looks at me inordinately longer than usual. It is similar to locking eyes with a stranger when you walk out of the restroom, or your ringtone sounding Eric Clapton's Layla in a study-space. Cringe! Yet I am reminded time and time again, people are beautiful creatures. I notice his overlooked masterpiece is some 90s postmodern scrabble with chicken wire and the word "MISFITS" cut out from newspaper. He certainly is, and you certainly are too. I find rest and solitude in people watching, or people tasting. The artist finds rest in painting. I see the meticulous energy he releases in creating acrylic dreams.
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