August, 2010. Walking through the Prado in Madrid, we came to Francisco de Goya. Some of his work wasn’t really grabbing me, but when we came to the Perro Semihundido (the half-sunken dog), I froze. Most of my group moved on, but it was impossible to ignore the breadth of emotion captured in something so lacking in detail. Goya never finished this, and he left very few notes about it, thus leaving it in a very considerable way up to interpretation. But in any case, so tragic, so optimistic, and so intensely unknown, for whatever reason, I could not look away, I could not feel my feet. I was listening to the sounds of the waves, the soft gentle sound they would make as if made of sand, and the fight to keep above it. Every inch of it almost had something to say, like that deep breath right before you speak, this work is anticipating something. Art inspires freedom, and especially freedom of interpretation, and I’ve never seen something so inherently patient for its own meaning, and yet so aware of it at the same time.
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