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Rated: E · Critique · Arts · #1002070
An emotional description of a sculpture I saw in the Dallas Museum of Art.
An art appreciation class I enrolled in four years ago once took a field trip to the Dallas Museum of Art. There, we were given a questionairre to fill out, which involved finding and describing certain items in the museum. The last assignment was to find our favorite piece of art and write a paragraph about it. I found a sculpture that moved me to an emotional state beyond any logical reason. This was the page that I wrote, on which my professor wrote afterwords, "Beautifully descriptive. I felt it come alive in my mind. Perhaps you should seek a career in art criticism?" I appreciated her praise, however, I disagreed with her suggestion. The following is not a critique, it is a love story.

"Turkish Horse" by Antoine Louis-Byrne, circa 1838, bronze sculpture

I come upon him, and the light illuminates the spirit before me. Never before have I encountered such essence from a still object. Valiant, intrepid, exquisite... words can only suggest a worthy description. The resilience of bone, the shuddering of muscle, the ripple of veins, the fluidness of each tendril of hair, the rigid stance of each limb... all make me wonder why I am not bracing to shield myself from the spray of dirt and mud that must explode at any moment from the impact of his hooves. The spirit of fury emanates from him; I see it in the flaring of his nostrils, the lacing back of his ears, the baring of his teeth, and his abrupt, defiant stance. He is perfectly balanced, uniquely poised to whirl upon his foe. He is challenged, perhaps by another mighty stallion, but victory is in his eyes, and he knows it is within his reach, for none shall have it but he. The very blood that pumps through his veins is from generations of conquests, and of the fire of his beauty. His mane falls about his crest in a wild dance of fury, characteristic of his scintillating radiance. His body was crafted, so that I might stand in awe of his magnificence. He has no name, only a sureness of mind and heart, of which I long to look upon infinitely.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1002070