Being that I’m a visual sort of person and being that I have the kind of imagination that makes connections between relatively-unconnected things, you can probably imagine the effect visual art has on me. I can’t paint or even draw a straight line without serious professional help, and the kick I get out of seeing something really great set down on canvas is without equal. More than just a kick, however, I often get a story. Maybe it’s the same kind of story the artist intended but who’s to say – artistic or authorial intention is murder to prove at the best of times – and maybe it’s something from way out of left field, but it’s always interesting and sometimes I’m driven to write it down.

One of my favourite paintings is by the American artist Edward Hopper. I’m sure you’ve seen this one: three people in pre-WWII clothes sitting at a lunch counter in some anonymous city at night. The people themselves are incidental; what arrests the viewer is the sense of space and, by extension, the sense of loneliness conveyed by that space.

Two of the people – the man and woman at the centre of the canvas – are more or less together. The third man sits “down stage” of them in an antagonistic position, not looking at them but yet (I’m certain of it) listening very closely to their conversation. I know what story this picture tells me; what does it suggest to you? (Tell me about it in the comments, if you please.)

Much of Hopper’s work was urban and much of it involved street scenes; as is the case with “Nighthawks,” above, the use of empty space conveys a feeling of loneliness that is quite personal and which at times verges on the intrusive.

The painting “Drug Store,” like “Nighthawks,” evokes the same sense of urban alienation and suggests a similar story. Unlike “Nighthawks,” there are no people in this picture. The street is utterly empty and both the drugstore and the surrounding street and sidewalks are brightly – almost garishly – lit. In contrast to the store front, the area directly adjacent to the drugstore is dark, murky and full of shadows, suggesting menace. What happened here? What could happen here? What is likely to happen here?

Another favourite artist is Maxfield Parrish, perhaps best known for his dreamy, subtly erotic illustrations of hyper-realistic nature scenes that often included the figures of young boys and women. One of the best known is “Daybreak,” with its antique Grecian columns, nude and artfully draped figures and its delicate dawn shading into full daylight.

The languid attitude of the reclining figure is in sharp contrast to the young boy leaning down: his pose suggests mischief and fun to be had, as well as artfully evoking his naked (heh) anticipation. The surrounding landscape is like something out of Tolkien, an alternate world of tranquility and pleasure, whose citizens are perhaps more devoted than most to the sensual pursuits. One assumes that times passes slowly (if at all) in this place and that there is never any hurry to go anywhere or to do anything. Perhaps the denizens of this land are the last remnants of some ancient, long-lived race predating humankind, or some weaker distillate of angel.

The Symbolist school of painters believed that art should represent absolute truths which could only be described indirectly. Thus, they painted in a very metaphorical and suggestive manner, endowing particular images or objects with symbolic meaning. In other words, what you see isn’t always what you get. For instance, “The Pink House,” by William Degouve, which depicts an ordinary-looking house whose upstairs windows are all lit up. As a writer of inquisitive bent I immediately wonder why the windows are lit – is someone ill? Has someone died? Is there some emergency in the house?


The presence of a smaller light to the left of the house suggests someone is also awake in one of the outbuildings – a servant, perhaps, who might have been summoned to give succour or to explain. What has occurred here? What is likely to occur? Who are the principal players?

“The Pink House” is the sort of painting on which it is easy to superimpose one’s own ideas and to invent a narrative. Similarly, the paintings of American artist Andrew Wyeth present distinct narratives in their own right; for example, the haunting and evocative “Christina’s World”, below:

The figure of the young woman, positioned as it is in the foreground, demands the viewer’s attention, as do the cluster of rough-hewn wooden buildings in the background. The attitude of her body is suggestive of many things: fear, anticipation, resignation, sadness. Is she going towards the cluster of buildings or has she already fled them, and is taking one last look back, like the biblical character of Lot’s wife? How does she regard the scene before her? What does it mean to her? And if she is indeed fleeing, what made her go?

It’s easy to see how something as simple as an artistic representation on canvas can suggest a larger and more complex narrative. To end, then, I’ll leave you with one of my favourite Wyeth paintings, “The Clearing.” I think we’ll all agree that it is a very pretty picture indeed. :-)

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