I had seen it hundreds of times, but now it was simultaneously familiar and foreign. It was as if I was looking at it for the first time. It shimmered as I walked around the room—the lights catching the deep contours of each brush stroke. His face possessed uncanny depth, and he appeared to come alive. His piercing gaze stared through me as if I didn't exist. The longer I stared into his eyes, the more expression I could glean from his gaunt face. He appeared profoundly sad with a tinge of resignation, hinting that this emotion was not unfamiliar. My experience at the Chicago Art Institute's Vincent van Gough exhibit echoed my broader sense of the trip; the city was familiar, but I viewed it as a stranger.
I aimed to look past the trivial details and capture broad shapes given form by the interplay with light—to distill the city's architecture to its essence.
