The church service I attended this morning ended at eleven. I then checked out of my motel, walked to an office supply store and bought a new pencil eraser (ahh, that felt good), stashed my duffle bag at the train station, and then walked to the Crocker Art Museum. I find the juxtaposition of uber wealth (Crocker was a Sacramento judge whose home and art collection are worth millions), and abject poverty (the homeless literally ate up the benevolence of Hipanics, Buddhists, and Salvation Army workers), oddly reassuring. I want a steady diet of life's weal and woe.
To the rarified world of art dealers I'm what's known as an outsider. I am not part of the elite. I am also one of those whom the insiders look down on because I don't know art but I know what I like. And I saw a LOT at the Crocker that I liked. Each of these pieces evoke nice feelings and deserve further elaboration but I'm typing on my tablet while riding the train through southern Oregon and am somewhat destracted.
Hi! Do you remember the title of this painting and the artist? I was watching "Thor" and there is a scene with his father on his deathbed and it reminded me of this painting that I too, saw at the Crocker. Thanks for your help!
ReplyDeleteH, Belinda! Thanks for writing. It's called, Portrait of My Father and it took 7 years to complete. It was a breath-taking marvel of intricacy and emotion. I've added a few more photos for detail. You're the first one to post on this site in nine months. Thanks for visiting.
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