Perfume

What happens here, some noble boyar? All florals, smelling like a meadow. 

Is this a painting of aromas? Is the purple not lavender, the ruddy red an autumn musk and the cold pinks a lightest whiff of plum. Some sophisticated person hidden behind fancy airs.

There are almost no soft edges on the image. Only a few big pulls of the brush here and there on the background, to give depth. Yet the image has a softness to it, in its colors and the shapes of the face. How does it feel so rounded, with all the sharp edges? Island-shapes of color, stepping lighter and darker to make you think of faces.

All the attention of contrast and color is given to the abstract. So much so that it competes for your attention on the face. The all important face, at which you must look at above all other things always in life. The signalboard of the other, the material surface of their emotions and thoughts.

You want to study the eyes to see the person, but are pulled away. By the loud explosion of petals, and the one single goldenshiny petal. Confused into abstract shapes and captivating rhythms. The pull makes it hard to look them in the eyes, and when you do the eyes reveal nothing.

What a terrifying person.