The power of an image

"Painting is the silence of thought and the music of sight."
Orhan Pamuk in his novel My Name Is Red.

I am immersed in the dense mysterious structure and subject of this book set in 16th century Istanbul.  The story centers around the secretive world of the master miniaturists, the painters of the day. They were commissioned by wealthy rulers to paint illuminations of stories recorded by master calligraphers.  The work was painstaking, lengthy, and done by candlelight or available light. When a page was finished it was gilded by a master gilder.  After all the necessary pages were complete they were bound into a book for the commissioner's exclusive use. I am only part way through the book but what strikes me the most right now is the power of an image in the 16th century. It is difficult to imagine from today's perspective with pictures such an ubiquitous part of everyday life.

In a world with little to no imagery, how profound and moving it would be to behold a painting.
It makes me think about the value and power of a great painting.  A painting has the potential to transform and transport, offer solace, and connect with spirit.  It can also disturb, call to arms, motivate and provoke. It helps us figure out what it means to be human.

Another quote from Pamuk:
"All great masters, in their work, seek that profound void within color and outside time."

So true. That brings to mind Mark Rothko's color field paintings... It is powerful to stand in front of such a painting.  You feel it reach inside you.

Pamuk's quote leads me back to the idea of going beyond the limits of time again....
When I begin a painting, I have basic ideas of structure, imagery and palette, sometimes even a vague visual inspiration for the "feel" of the piece. Eventually I reach a point where I believe the painting really begins.  I have to reach outside myself to a place of non-linear thinking in order to proceed. Perhaps that is some aspect of the timeless void Pamuk mentions.  I seek a kind of primal hum where every layer and aspect of my painting works in concert and the piece takes on a life of its own.  To do this requires risk, trial and error, and detours. I must let go of my preconceived ideas about where the painting should go. It is intuitive and there is a lot of tension and fear intrinsic in this process.  But there is pleasure too, and joy in discovery.  The rewards are great, and I have learned to trust it.