Painting titled "Danse corrida" by Eva Mifsud, Original Artwork, Oil

Danse corrida (2014) Painting by Eva Mifsud

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Original Artwork Painting, Oil on Canvas

Artworks classification

Original Artwork

Original Artwork refers to any work that is considered authentic and not a copy or imitation of the original works of an artist. Original artwork can be any type of painting, sculpture, performance, or other media. There are many types of original media. Mixed media includes oil, acrylic, and watercolor paintings. For workshop paintings that bear evidence of master craftsmanship, this attribution must be further qualified. While they may be less valuable for different reasons, reproductions and copies have had a tremendous impact on our experience. They reach a greater audience than originals and act as a tonic against commodification. Original Artwork could also refer to the first work, which is always preceding all others. It could also refer to a prototype or a model from which other works can be made. Each work bears great similarities to the original.
Dimensions Dimensions are available on request
Categories Expressionism

Un couple danse en torero. Une corrida humaine, l'amour, la fusion au milieu des chiffres. About this artwork: Classification, Techniques & Styles Oil [...]

Eva Mifsud

France

"Would you be able to talk about my paintings ?"... These are the words she directed at me, that day, her paintbrush in her hand. Taken aback, I tried to dodge her request, referring,[...]

"Would you be able to talk about my paintings ?"...

These are the words she directed at me, that day, her paintbrush in her hand. Taken aback, I tried to dodge her request, referring, among other things, to my atavistic mistrust of these words which think that they can say everything.

"But I have no mistrust of words, I have none for my paintings", she objected while her paintbrush was moving. "And it would please me to have some words.", she added after a moment of silence.

And as I was searching, these words escaped me, sticky by their insignificance, gummy with vacuity, laden with rationalism, while my eyes wandered over the canvases which disorganised her studio, trying to link her painting to some known artistic movement.

A contemporary she certainly was but nevertheless unclassifiable. Neither academic nor abstract nor realist, nor really figurative. Decidedly, no word could fit this sensation, this intuition I had already experienced, more than already seen. Of that I was certain without a glimmer of knowing why.
Visceral. Violent. Disturbing. Just like her paintings, this reminiscence was all these, just as surely as it was not pictorial. I needed to seek elsewhere.
And as so often, I was about to give up when the answer popped up.

Bukowski !

I was at Bukowski’s, and experiencing again this gut-churning feeling caused by his writings. His words had read something unknown in me.

And her pictures were looking at me. Her paintings could see in me other unexplored things…

Bernard Convers.