Just recently, I stopped in to one of my favorite coffee shop/restaurant to have a coffee. There was this incredible eye popping expressive art on the walls. It appeared that it was a solo exhibit as the paintings were all by the same person. I couldn't help to stare over peoples shoulders and tables to get a better look. I spent almost forty five minutes going through the works, looking at them, and looking again. I was liking what I saw. Good solid expressionist work. Stunning. It caught my eye as soon as I walked into the establishment. Like a shining sun.
Then it struck me. Kind of like, the feeling you might get as if you were a ghost, and no one could see me, or notice how I was awestruck and gawking around with my laser like focused eyes. Here I was, going from table to table, craning my neck to see the works, and almost knocking someone off a stool to do so, and yet nothing. Like I'm invisible. I was almost hoping someone would say, oh, "I noticed you were looking at these paintings" .. and start a conversation about them.
I went back to my table, and just viewed the work from afar, just admiring it. I must have been in there an hour. People coming, eating, talking, texting, cell phones ringing, on lap tops, on Ipads you name it. I took very careful observations. Very careful. Because something was not right. Something caught my attention and I needed to make sure I wasn't wrong on this. And here it is.
Not one single person ever looked up to see the artwork. Not one. No one. Not a soul. Totally obliviousness. Even though it hung right over there heads, and was practically in their face. Here was this dynamic art, obviously done by a very accomplished artist. The life and soul, the guts and honesty, all there on canvas. And no one cares. It too was invisible to these crowds of people. Might as well have been ghost images. Work hanging in vain. For it was the proverbial saying come true. "What if a tree falls in a forest, and there's no around to hear it. Does it make any sound?" Perhaps blindness is not just a physical affliction.
I returned to my studio, proceeded to pick up my brush but had a hard time shaking that experience. And, I think made it a little harder to maintain my motivation to paint, or at least for the time being.
How sad. How very sad.