[ The more she hears the man's voice, the more a suspicion grows in her head that it sounds vaguely, vaguely familiar, but not to the extent of recognition. So she listens to him carefully, reads into his words, just in case. She preludes her response by returning his sheepish smile with one of her own before she turns her head, fixing her gaze back onto the painting. ]
I don't believe in "right" and "wrong" when it comes to paintings, actually. The question isn't so much "what is this painting about," but more "how does it make you feel."
[ And then she turns her head, offering him a coy little smile. ]
For these types of paintings, anyway. It's quite different with portraits of rotund French aristocrats--there's no question about what those paintings are about, because the answer is always "I'm rich and have enough money to be paying this unfortunate soul money to sit and paint me for hours on end."
no subject
I don't believe in "right" and "wrong" when it comes to paintings, actually. The question isn't so much "what is this painting about," but more "how does it make you feel."
[ And then she turns her head, offering him a coy little smile. ]
For these types of paintings, anyway. It's quite different with portraits of rotund French aristocrats--there's no question about what those paintings are about, because the answer is always "I'm rich and have enough money to be paying this unfortunate soul money to sit and paint me for hours on end."