Oh, sorry: we were (here) talking about the Muhammad Ali painting I bought at an auction, not art I bought at a thrift store.
Well, the above is an original painting that I bought at a thrift store some two years ago for ten or fifteen bucks. I like it so much—I find it so deeply moving and exquisitely composed—that I’m almost embarrassed to show or talk about it here.
You know how you take to heart the art you love so much—and then feel kind of vulnerable around it. This, for me, is one of those pieces.
All my life, I’ve been congenitally Deeply Focused upon—not to say obsessively engaged with—the whole Outsider/Insider universe of human interpersonal dynamics. Who’s “in”? Who’s “out”? Why? What’s it like to be either? Why’s either good? Why’s either bad? Who’s getting hurt by either, and why, and what can they do about it?
Anyway, this, to me, would be all that, in fifty by sixty inches of perfectly calibrated color.
The painting is by one Alejandro Lucas Debonis. I have no idea who he is. I would like to, of course, if only to write and thank him. But Google offered up little to nothing about ol’ Alejandro, and so he remains, to me, a mystery.
But what he had to say with this painting—or what it says to me, anyway—is as known to me as the very beat of my heart.
(Related/follow-up post: Another Exceptional Painting Bought at a Thrift Store)