Friday, December 2, 2011

schiele's hands



There's a feeling you get inside when you stand in front of the work of an admired artist, and are finally able to examine the brushstrokes and smudges, the weight of a line, and the changes in direction in a bleed of colour. I have long been pulled toward the often grotesque, distorted figures of Egon Schiele, and as I stood in front of the Leopold Museum in Vienna, the cold reddening my nose, I felt a tremor in my chest, knowing that what I had studied in awe from books, would at last be a breath's distance away.

I felt submerged in a dark sea, muddy-coloured fish surrounding me, with piercing eyes— their elongated skeletal forms, twisting and coiling, erotic and disturbing. What captured me most were their hands— stretched, knobby-knuckled fingers like tree branches, so expressive, so real. The entire painting, held in these hands.

6 comments:

moreidlethoughts said...

I like hands! And Schiele's are compelling, aren't they?

szaza said...

Ooh yes they are— I am so drawn to them! They feel like they have really lost and loved.

Anja Dalby said...

Ooohh how I love Egon Schiele. I could feel a deep sigh in my stomach coming up when I read the words Schieles Hands. Thank you for reminding me of my passion for art.

szaza said...

You are most welcome, Anja!
It's important to remember our passions, so I am happy to provide you with some gorgeous Schieles.

Sigh... his work is wonderful.

Mice Aliling said...

All I can do is sigh...i am magnetized.

szaza said...

They are so gorgeous— and the raw brushstrokes make me swoon...