You may recall me recently mentioning that I had fallen in love with a painting that I had seen in the Convent Gallery in Daylesford.
You may recall I waxed lyrical about the artist and how the work pulled me in straight away and how I loved the vibrancy of the piece.
Well, I bought that painting. And I love it. I think it’s absolutely fabulous. I plan for it to be the centrepiece of my home, tying everything together, and most importantly, setting my soul at ease in my new city. It says everything I want it to and it makes me feel exactly how I feel every time I listen to music – electric.
But it may surprise you to know that other people don’t feel that way! Fun has been poked at my incredible painting.
And it started to make me think it wasn’t so incredible after all.
That painting that I loved, could I have got it so wrong that it is not to be adored by anyone other than me? Do I really have no taste? Did I make a mistake? Are people laughing at me behind my back, thinking I am so uncultured as to buy a piece that hideous?
What is it that makes one person love Dali and another love Monet? Or why is it some people thing of street art as pure graffiti, seeing no value in its social comment? Why do some of us love sculpture, and others paintings, whilst others still love ceramics and textiles?
It’s because we are all different. Different things call to our souls. And there’s everything right with that.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And you should let it remain there.