I have always been drawn to the way images have the ability to evoke such a powerful emotional response within the heart of the viewer. To look at a scene and understand the conveyed feeling provokes a desire in me to be a part of the captured moment and be able to explore further into its atmosphere. I remember as a child I used to flip through all the pre-programmed Windows 2000 backgrounds and pause at each one, letting my mind travel perhaps across rolling green hills past the depths of the expanse that was only limited by a computer monitor. I remember the rush I felt, the profoundness I thought, of the idea of being alone in this alternate wonderland. I do not understand why a visual aid can prompt this nostalgia in my inner being, and yet again it seems to be a longing for something that I have never experienced nor shall ever be acquainted with. Why are there so many stimuli that are able to arouse feelings that I am not familiar with? Maybe it is simply the draw to something that is inaccessible, for one will never feel as if they are in an actual painting and the fascination for this only reminds me of my ridiculous yearning for tragedy. Yet it is these feelings that allow me to know that I am indeed a human with a soul more complex than science can explain and not merely a two-legged intelligent mammal. Still, I wonder. But what do I do besides wonder anyway?
Today, I wish I were a part of
Nighthawks. It's one of my favorite paintings, but to be honest, I don't exactly have an answer for why. Perhaps it's the way such a commonplace happening is depicted in such a simplistic manner. Perhaps it's my own romanticized perception of the time period displayed. Perhaps it's the way this painting makes the viewer feel like a lone outsider looking in on a warm instance in time. Perhaps it's merely because of the hollowness it seems to develop inside of me. Whatever the reason be,
Nighthawks further establishes my insatiable craving for something more, yes,
something good.
