Love Letter To Fairfield Porter
Dear Fairfield Porter, I can remember the first time I sat down and looked at a book of your work; I was enchanted. At the time, I wanted to paint the figure, and your figure paintings were grand, no one can argue that. However, your figures struck me as being cold and distance, which should have made my feet move away from your paintings, but instead drew me into your paintings wondering more about the actual person than the painting in front of me. I was new to painting back then and craved paintings that were about painting. Instead, I became drawn to your warm landscapes, where I could appreciate your painting chops without distraction. I loved the way you used pops of color to draw me close, and the feel of your paint on the canvas was very smooth. I am a more seasoned painter at present. I can see in your portraits now what I hungered for and was fed mouthfuls in your landscapes back then. I can see that your landscapes also held that same fridge mysterious come closer feel. You’re the type of painter to be underestimated because of how natural your paint flowed from your brush. Allowing your paintings to be so colorfully juice at times. I simply cannot stand, but am forced to sit down and write this letter to you. I tip my brush to yours with this last compliment. When I look at your paintings, it is always as if I am looking for the first time, and I am left needing more, constantly more.