As I walk into the room I immediately sense eyes upon me, alone, I stare back with confidence, only to wonder, what do I see? what have they seen in all those years? Who are they?
I leave the portraits, lost, yet wandering freely I see a painting in the distance drawing me closer from the light streaming from that dark painting. I can’t seem to look away. Turner’s paintings. I drench myself with Turner’s turmoil of emotions flowing from these paintings.
As I move on I wonder what the stories are of these portraits, paintings, and their muses. Why did they paint, sculpt, photograph, conceptualise these art forms?