Something you’ll learn about me is that, more often than not, I have no idea why I like something.  Generally, I’m pretty good at self-analysis.  I’m good at figuring out why I’m sad or angry.  I’m good at figuring out my motivations and, usually, calling myself on my bullshit.  But I’ve never been good at determining why particular works of art or pieces of music touch me more than others.

Nighthawks may well be my second favorite painting of all time.  Perhaps it’s the atmosphere it conveys; perhaps it’s because it feels like there’s a story just waiting to be told.  Maybe it’s just because this is my favorite type of restaurant (IE: local, small, utterly unfancy).

I’m sure a trained critic could go on about the choice of colors or the angle of our view or the somewhat ambiguous nature of these characters.  All I know is that I feel a connection to this piece.  That’s enough for me.


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