Work for me like FLESH: Lucian Freud

In the spring of 2010, I flew to Paris for a short leg of two weeks.  I prioritized a visit to good ole' Beaubourg in order to see an exhibition of, in my view, one of the masters of contemporary painting; Lucian Freud. He is enormous. His paintings had to be seen in real life to absorb their colossal nature.

Reflection. Lucian Freud, 1993.

I was taken by the virile forces at work behind his heavy brush stroke.  I sat on a low bench and wrote the following:

"Work for me like FLESH"

Exercises in musing off paintings begin with Lucian Freud- his realization of human flesh, pores, skin, blue veins, pink veins, red veins, translucence, the protruding nipple, the perturbed glutton, disproportion of fat and muscle, even hair, even wood grain like flesh, flesh like wood grain, holy wonder of the leaf, light between the garden, splurging dance amongst the faucets too thin to touch, sumo wrestlers too thick to grant the wishes of space-deny contact-or escape, the made bed stark wrinkled, wrinkle of the every limb or edge, limp dog curling, curling like a rug or toe, the contortion of bodies you will never see upright save through catastrophe or collision with death, boots with open mouths.

We are surrounded by imperfection and fascinated by its departure from beauty.

March 25, 2010

Paris, France