As stated before, my initial response was nostalgia. It reminded me of the sprawling, stylized lands of my youth, when I had the time to spend 60 hours on a JRPG. Despite the harsh appearance of the lines, there was a delicacy to them as well. The tendrils the trickled underneath the main parts of the black, and the neon pink that was spread throughout the painting gave the black forms a sense of fragility. There was also a compelling balance to the image. The black areas were offset by near equal amounts of negative space. The pink did not stray far from the black, giving the two colors a partnership and cohesiveness. The lines guided the eye around the canvas, from one corner to the next and back. But really, the black lights made the experience, suffusing the entire room with purple light, causing the paint to glow. I, too, did glow. Although only the white threads in my jeans shone with any particular intensity, it was interesting to see the paper upon which I wrote illuminate my hands. I didn't radiate as much light as other people who walked in, and as I sat in the middle of the room, I felt almost invisible. A lone viewer watching as others swept in and out, for no one but the security guard stayed as long as I. It compounded the sense of nostalgia and the passing of time.
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