Over the next week, things changed. She saw the world in Phaidon plates. The way the afternoon sun slashed across the floor of the library was a Hopper. The rust on a bicycle rack was a Rauschenberg. The quiet sorrow in a homeless man’s face was a late Rembrandt self-portrait. She began to sketch on the margins of overdue notices.
It was a Phaidon monograph.
The book fell naturally to a dog-eared page: David with the Head of Goliath . She’d seen the painting a hundred times in slideshows. But here, on this page, the colors were impossibly deep. Caravaggio’s own severed head, held by the young David, seemed to stare directly up at her. She felt a chill. phaidon art books
Over the next week, things changed. She saw the world in Phaidon plates. The way the afternoon sun slashed across the floor of the library was a Hopper. The rust on a bicycle rack was a Rauschenberg. The quiet sorrow in a homeless man’s face was a late Rembrandt self-portrait. She began to sketch on the margins of overdue notices.
It was a Phaidon monograph.
The book fell naturally to a dog-eared page: David with the Head of Goliath . She’d seen the painting a hundred times in slideshows. But here, on this page, the colors were impossibly deep. Caravaggio’s own severed head, held by the young David, seemed to stare directly up at her. She felt a chill.
