Can’t help myself sometimes, I see a bit of rust and I smile.
I love the earthy colors, the evolution of metal from black or grey to burnt sienna, red and orange.
Funny thing is, I didn’t always like this near-orange color.
Half a lifetime ago, a girlfriend in grad school worked up her masters exhibit in fine arts – painting. Pigments were combined with a medium meant to carry them – but in unusual proportions. I think the entire body of work could be described that way.
I remember my blunt criticism of some of the work.
I didn’t like the dominant colors – likened them to Raggedy Annie’s hair.
F**k me. What an a**hole I was that spring. She knew it before I did.
She looked at me like I had three eyes.
Not texture?
Not composition?
The color? WTF?
I think some of what I like about rusty objects would work just as well for me if they were flattened like canvasses and hung on a gallery wall.
I can picture some of those masters’ show paintings and like them more in hindsight.
My sincerest apologies L.B.
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