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Julia commented on the painting “The Backpacker” and I’m so glad she did:

“I love the way the butte is outlined in the redness of the soil and contrasts with the blue of the sky behind it!”

She told me she had wanted to leave just a “like,” but my website appeared to insist on her making a comment as well.

I am very grateful to Julia. She could have simply turned away. But let me tell you, and her, just how valuable her comment is.

Julia’s observation is deceptively simple. What she saw, and how she saw it, is one of who-knows-how-many approaches there are to connecting with this modest painting. First, she points to a red pathway that leads from one side of the painting to the other, and by telling us that she loves it, she suggests that we might enjoy it too. So maybe we take a look for ourselves. Did you notice, by the way, that the red line along the tops of the hills is different from the red of the soil?

Then she delights in the color relation between the red stripe and the blue sky. Maybe we would enjoy that too, if we took a moment to let it affect us. So we do.

Julia’s one sentence encourages us to react to two of the seven elements of a work of art. (Line, shape, form, space, value, color and texture.)

She shares a personal and subjective observation that is likely different from yours—it is different from mine—and this bolsters my point today that there is no one way to appreciate art. (I wasn’t thinking of the red of the hills extending over the butte, but of the butte being outlined separately. I like her idea of the red connecting everything.)

When someone says, “I don’t know anything about art…” the implication is that there is something essential to know about art. There is not. It is not about knowing; it is about that thrill you feel. And if you feel no thrill, then that painting is not for you. I am very sensitive to paintings and can get quite excited, but a lot of paintings interest me for only a moment, and many not even that.

Our interplay with a painting may well be unique to us, and just as valid as any other. I’ve heard judges lament that their job was a terribly difficult one, and acknowledge that their choices are purely subjective, of no more value than another’s. What this means to you is that you can, and should, ignore any judgment, whether from a pedant or a peasant.

BUT, when a person comes along and sees something interesting, even thrilling, in a painting, and can share that experience with you, that person deserves to be listened to. Yes, if a person has a lot of aesthetic experience and can point out many stimulating facets of a work of art, that person would be a lot of help to you. However, any observation that augments our experience is valuable.

My self-imposed artist’s job is to infuse my work with a myriad of possibilities. It is challenging work and I fail often, but when I succeed and you are willing to spend the time, you will find, or, shall I say, create, plenty to connect with on your own, and for a very long time.

My guarantee to you.

Look, I keep saying to my friends that all I care about is hanging my paintings in other houses, and that’s true. I’ve also said that the best reason for a person to hang a painting in her house is so that she can contemplate it and enjoy it that way. (There are other ways, and we can talk about some of them another time.) What Julia shows us is that you don’t need to be an artist, or even an accomplished professional connoisseur, or – gasp! – artificial intelligence, to take your time and relax with an original.

Thanks Julia!