Last Wednesday evening, I and my three friends went to the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, one of the finest and graceful Art Museum of the world, which I purposelessly neglected to visit for so long even being a neighbor to it. The Museum was ornamented with all kinds of paintings from all over the world with a special exhibition of Edward Hopper’s paintings, which we were exceedingly blessed to stumble upon. I did not know about Edward Hopper even after I bought the entry ticket, dishonorably low price of six dollars after the surrounding-student’s discount, for the exhibition of his work of arts. The genteel naturalistic world I discover therein through the ingenious colors of his brush seemed to me much flamboyance, more endearing and most enviable than the one we live in.
Edward Hopper is an American painter of early twentieth century; "a true artist whose poetry is realism" as best being depicted by one of his contemporaries, was what I learned first about him after the entrance. The very first canvas I encountered was best of him to me and that was the flaxseed "oil on canvas" painting of "Haskell's House" which I first envisaged to be a three dimensional sculpture with finite breadth. I had to rest my eyes on the wall to annul the illusion. The home under sunshine was decorated with excessive pertinent and richly flamboyant colors, which made it looks as well vivid as real. The alteration of the colors in the shadow to its akin shaded but not darken one was ingenious and incredible. The commendable expertise of the artist in neither supernatural nor magical but truly natural portrait of the sunshine on our nature is what fascinated me most and also endowed him to his aspiration: "All I wanted to paint was the sunlight on the side of a house." The chromatic reality and vividness in hue of the “Haskell's House" on the canvas is free from dilution with respect to farness of the spectators. This eminence is not present even in his other paintings, at least to me, as firmly as in this particular one.
I started slowly strolling through one by one of the artist’s chef-d'oeuvre, like a scuba diver hops from mollusk to mollusk in search of pearls, till I bump into a pair of replicated paintings of “Prospect Street” but one in the day light and the other at dusk. The conception and its execution with great elaboration once again enlighten his distinctive and stylish elegance and his "intimate observations of the nature". Even though each of his paintings appeals special appreciations, but I must come to a close now but not without mentioning another of his highly proclaimed painting “Nighthawks”.
The depth of the picture with the recipe of colors and unification of lights and shadows has been excessively exercised in several motion pictures and dramas in their scripts and/or for decorating the stages. After two hours of wonder, we had to leave the Edward Hopper’s imaginative globe adorned by realism because its door was slammed to shut against us.
The art in incomprehensible significance which I hate most about the paintings of even the greatest Picasso’s masterpieces, is completely absent, at least to my degree of perception, in Hopper’s art in “artless” realism. Perceptions can deceive but realism not. Edward Hopper’s performance of great élan and minimalism will speak that forever.
Edward Hopper is an American painter of early twentieth century; "a true artist whose poetry is realism" as best being depicted by one of his contemporaries, was what I learned first about him after the entrance. The very first canvas I encountered was best of him to me and that was the flaxseed "oil on canvas" painting of "Haskell's House" which I first envisaged to be a three dimensional sculpture with finite breadth. I had to rest my eyes on the wall to annul the illusion. The home under sunshine was decorated with excessive pertinent and richly flamboyant colors, which made it looks as well vivid as real. The alteration of the colors in the shadow to its akin shaded but not darken one was ingenious and incredible. The commendable expertise of the artist in neither supernatural nor magical but truly natural portrait of the sunshine on our nature is what fascinated me most and also endowed him to his aspiration: "All I wanted to paint was the sunlight on the side of a house." The chromatic reality and vividness in hue of the “Haskell's House" on the canvas is free from dilution with respect to farness of the spectators. This eminence is not present even in his other paintings, at least to me, as firmly as in this particular one.I started slowly strolling through one by one of the artist’s chef-d'oeuvre, like a scuba diver hops from mollusk to mollusk in search of pearls, till I bump into a pair of replicated paintings of “Prospect Street” but one in the day light and the other at dusk. The conception and its execution with great elaboration once again enlighten his distinctive and stylish elegance and his "intimate observations of the nature". Even though each of his paintings appeals special appreciations, but I must come to a close now but not without mentioning another of his highly proclaimed painting “Nighthawks”.
The depth of the picture with the recipe of colors and unification of lights and shadows has been excessively exercised in several motion pictures and dramas in their scripts and/or for decorating the stages. After two hours of wonder, we had to leave the Edward Hopper’s imaginative globe adorned by realism because its door was slammed to shut against us.
The art in incomprehensible significance which I hate most about the paintings of even the greatest Picasso’s masterpieces, is completely absent, at least to my degree of perception, in Hopper’s art in “artless” realism. Perceptions can deceive but realism not. Edward Hopper’s performance of great élan and minimalism will speak that forever.
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