Are horse paintings meaningful — or just an easy target for ridicule? Or is that exactly why they matter? They absorb that ridicule, they attract the accusation of being “empty,” and yes — you’re left speechless in front of all that supposed lack of meaning. And yet you enjoy them. They are perfect vessels for longing — for emptiness, for a reset, for the fantasy of beginning again, this time differently, better, more beautifully. You project something into them.
The horse looks straight at you; it tells you nothing, of course — but somehow that’s enough. (CW)