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Definately, I don't have the time to type up all that I have written on Conor's face. So oh well, I lied. Sue me.
Yesterday was amazing for ten minutes and the rest was crap. A ten minute, restful bus trip with Conor. The weather was beautiful. Pouring down rain and fog over the entire city so the buildings looked like they were floating. And the river reflected the color of the sky and blended in with the clouds. Everything kind of glowed.
We chatted about this and that. He's sick again. That makes me unhappy. A Conor should not be sick. A Conor has too many great things to spend his boundless energy on to waste such brilliance on a cold.
I told him, speaking of the sky, that I found it impossible to mix that certain gray. He said that if one gets all the colors right then-- I cut him off and finished for him, that it seems dead. Too much like a photo, he agrees. We stare out the window in silence. Then I explain to him a frustration I've had for a while. No matter how well you capture the details and match the colors and the light-- you can have the best photo on earth taken and somethings still missing. It's not just that it's flat, because everything we see is simply a plane. Otherwise we'd be able to see around things. Maybe it's because no matter how well you paint you can't controll the amount of light being reflected off the picture. It's allways fake. Never quite gets the point across.
One can argue that by using more dynamic colors, exagerating things, or doing crazy non-representational art you can potray those things that are missing. But those don't convey the same thing to every one. There's still something lost in translation, even though you were only capturing feelings and not images.
Suffice to say, Conor was confused by this and said nothing. So when he left I got out my sketch book and drew him by the window. Something was missing in that picture too.
His left arm, I couldn't see the position because my own sholder was in the way. I'll have to find some one to model for me.