First, is the pop. From the other end of a gallery space, through a cafe window, or plastered across a brick wall as I round the corner. The composition tells me immediately where to look and it feels good to, even before the subject is apparent. In the lines and in the color, there’s something loose and moving, even when there isn’t.
Second, is the zoom-- my favorite part of the conversation with the art. I’m summoned, and the resolution comes into focus, emerging at walking speed. Two steps ago, my eyes only knew where to move. Two more steps, and shadows start flirting with highlights. Details emerge. Foreground separates from background. I savor the approach for the vague forms I only get to see once before closing the distance.
Here comes the subject, then, and the medium announcing itself. Closer, and the strokes appear. The order and organization. They’re there no matter how fast the work was made. Now, the subject starts interacting with the way the artist has laid down lines, and where they’ve laid them down. It says more than the subject matter itself. Punchy negative spaces, or something left unpolished in the corner, minimalist forms leaning up against sharp detail. My initial reactions start to blend with the artist’s message, then with my impression of the artist as an individual. I draw closer, even, and stay still to absorb the last of the details they’ve offered.
How many minutes pass while I watch foreground and background tug at one another, or all the happy accidents in the composition reinforcing the more intentional lines? Enough of them, I suppose. But here’s where I want more. Sometimes, that’s asking too much. Sometimes, it’s just enough.
The artist has left one last layer to process. The details matter more than one might think. Read past the decoy subject, they’ve hinted. There was something in the gray areas, missed. Or something legible in the unintelligible. A very deliberate placement of color that meant everything, or one bold contradiction hidden out in the open. It’s then that I believe I’ve received closure, enough jigsaw pieces to just barely understand. But right as I walk away, my head finally pieces together the four corners and fills in the rest of the puzzle by itself. That there, is closure.
If community is where humans infuse space with honesty and vulnerability, home is where they find each other. Liann works to capture this metamorphosis of place through mixed media and her writing.