Desperation

My dad is a graphic artist by trade, so growing up, I learned a lot about art. The art gene missed me. On a good day I can maybe draw a respectable stick figure. But art theory and art history permeated my childhood. I cannot tell you how many hours I spent wandering through museums with my dad, talking to him about different paintings and why they were good. All this to say, I have an interesting relationship with paintings. I feel like I know when one is good, but I could never tell you what it is that makes it that way.

Le Desespere, Gustav Courbet

Le Desespere by Gustave Courbet is a painting like that for me. I feel like I know this man. There is something about the expression in the eyes and the gentle tugging of the hair that is striking to me. I can see in this man's face that same kind of blank panic that grips me more often than I like to admit. The warm tone of the painting, and the sharp contrast between light and shadow makes my breath catch- it stills my heart to a stop. When I look at this painting feel like I'm caught in a moment that I've been in a million times. The moment before simmering stress breaks into full panic.

This painting meant a lot to Courbet, too. It was a self portrait, and he carried it with him wherever he went, even into his exile from France. I understand that, on a certain level. As much as desperation and panic are unsavory parts of my life, I have to remember them. Somehow, remembering the times of disorientation makes reality seem more real, and the present more tangible.

Photo Credit