Colors read

    Sprinkled letters mean nothing to grandest hits
of light to dark. The hints of trickery played upon the
eyes until you look deeper. What was the sight being
viewed? What was the emotion being displayed?

    Standing in footsteps of men and a handful of
women. Collections. Small. Amazing and breathtaking.
Simple of how Jehovah gave someone such a gift.

    Still viewing, up close and staring for long periods
even got workers a bit hesistant of my observations.
La. The study of one artist to another. The intriguing
parts of picking paintings apart, truly the adventure
awaiting to happen.

    Ah three hours of fifty-five paintings. I did skip a
few because the complexity of the strokes were
strongly ordinary. Perhaps the layers of paint or the
mundane subject led me to something extraordinary.
Perhaps I am picky. Shrugging shoulders. Who knows?

   Silently observing the depth and angles of the
paintings, I was in amazement over how the patrons
just read, listened to the information and glimpsed
at the painting.

   I did not attain the headphones for the multitude
of information. I was there for the artist. The drawing
of the colors, the strokes and the expressions trying
to be applied to the audience. What was the reason
for the painting? Why did the artist choose that
particular scenery, that view instead of a different one?
What was the draw of the need to show people this
collection of lights, darks and trickery?

   Ah I sigh now as the day has dipped into the
evening hours. Still seeing a few hidden parts in
certain paintings. Ah sometime I do wonder the about
why I saw them as I did and others could not. Must
be one of those special little gifts Jehovah gives me.
The view of absorption.

   Now here I sigh. Exhaling. Inhaling. Relaxing and
recalling the softness of calm I felt inside this
museum.

   La. I am greeted by flashes of strokes, memories
of information and stunned by the thoughts upon
my mind.

   Dear friend the only thing I would have liked more
would have to been in company of any other fellow
artist. Alas I was not.

   To see another perspective of art. To breathe it
as I do. To hear, listen to words describing what
was blazing across eyes.

    Still I find funny how fast some moved through
the galleries. Amazed at the severity of boredom
placed upon the rested audience viewing. The
impatience of some and the cries of death some
were experiencing.

   Ah. Ending the grandness of an afternoon well
spent with company to view a few simple, complex
pieces of artwork.

   Dear friend I highly recommend to spend fifteen
to twenty dollars to view some Impressionism pieces
of artwork. For you to view in depth the lights, darks
of pigments. To read further into the questions even
I proposed. Entertain your mind the breath of
oils on canvas, cardboard and wood.

    Clearly find that one piece that pulls you to stand
staring more that fifteen minutes. See the detail and
appreciate the simplicity of an artist eye.

    Would you, dear friend, find such a painting for
me to read?