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Out of context: Reply #18265
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"Past the age of fifty, Velasquez stopped painting definite things. He hovered around objects with the air, with twilight, catching in his shadows and airy backgrounds the palpitations of colour which formed the invisible core of his silent symphony. Henceforth, he captured only those mysterious interpenetrations of shape and tone that form a constant, secret progression, neither betrayed nor interrupted by any jolt or jar. Space reigns supreme. It is as if an aerial wave, sliding over the surfaces, soaked up their visible emanations, defined and modeled them, then spread them about like a perfume, an echo of themselves, a scattering of impalpable dust. The world he lived in
was one of sadness: a degenerate king, sickly infantes, idiots, dwarfs, cripples, a handful of clownish freaks dressed up as princes, whose function it was to laugh at themselves and to amuse a cast that lived outside the law, in the meshes of etiquette, plots and lies, bound by the confessional and remorse, with the inquisition and silence at the door. A spirit of nostalgia pervades his work, yet he avoids what is ugly, sad, or cruelly morbid."- .its a supposedly "spanish" perversity: collapsing by sunbeam.********
- .its a supposedly "spanish" perversity: collapsing by sunbeam.