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I am in love with a painting. I don't know who painted it, when they painted it, what it's called, or even where it is now.
I've seen it once. When I was about thirteen, I was taking a mixed media class at the Watkins Art Institute in Nashville. Just before I went downstairs from the fifth floor, I decided to check out the new exhibit on the fourth floor. This was where I saw the painting.
I'll try to describe it, although I think it will be impossible to describe the intensity of the image in my head. It was made up of three panels, each about ten feet high and two 1/2 feet wide. They were spaced about a foot apart.
The picture itself was something like a wave of lava breaking over a deep blue sky. When I was looking at it, I heard the ocean and I saw molten lava. Splash! Lava wave! All those colors (there really weren't that many, actually...I mean, how many colors are in lava? How many colors on the way from deep blue to purple?). Love at first sight. I must've stared at it for ten minutes until my dad found me and dragged me home. I never saw it again.
I want to see this painting again. I don't just want, I fucking yearn for this painting. I've never felt this way about a painting before. It's not often I feel this way about people, for christ's sake. I mean, it really hurts that I can't find it.
So please: tell me how likely it is that if I went back to Watkins I would be able to find it. Or how likely it is that I might be able to re-create it from the image of it burned into my mind. Go on, I can take it.* I need to know.
*actually, in all likelihood I can't and will probably make a scene. |
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