Brent Benaway, painter, my daughter Julia’s boyfriend, left a stack of his paintings in my garage. The one in the front is a girl in a hooded sweatshirt sitting on the floor holding her knees with her hands. Her sneakered feet crossed at the ankles, jeans has a small torn in one area. Her face is pale, mask-like, and her eyes are two black holes without pupils. “Is it Julia?” I asked Brent. “No, she was my ex. I painted her as a birthday present but she didn’t appreciate it so I took it back.”
To be indifferent or uncaring to an artist’s work is to say goodbye to the relationship. I don’t think one needs to understand the art or to like it, but there needs to be an intense interest in the artist’s expression. The soul of the artist resides in his/her work. If the soul is not nurtured the body rejects the closeness.
You do not have to understand the artist’s work, why they pursue it, or what it means to them or any of that. You do not need to “go ga-ga” over every piece, in fact that is usually ill advised. All that is needed, and maybe wanted, is a form of empathy in which you profess curiosity, some measure of wonder and, within and secretly, use it to understand them better. Maybe that’s all there is to it. One wonders.
Interesting. Maybe he should not have given it to her but…..