Okay, so I’ve been meaning to really sit down and spend some time with Remedios Varo's "Creation of the Birds." It’s one of those pieces, you know? It just pulls you in. So, the other day, I finally cleared my schedule and decided to properly dive into it.
My Process with Varo's Birds
First off, I just looked. Sounds simple, right? But I mean, really looked. I pulled up a good quality image and just let my eyes wander all over it. I didn’t try to understand anything straight away, just absorbed the colors, the mood. It’s got this very distinct, almost magical laboratory feel to it.
Then, I started to focus on the central figure. This owl-faced alchemist, or artist, or whatever you want to call her. She’s so intent on her work. I spent a good while just examining her posture, the tools she’s using. That magnifying glass that seems to be channeling starlight, and the little violin-like instrument she uses to paint with. It’s not just a brush, it’s like she’s drawing life out of music and light.
My next step was to trace the actual "creation" process. I followed the light from the star, through the prism in the window, into her magnifying glass, then onto the paper where the bird is. And then, how the bird literally lifts off the page! It's such a delicate, careful operation she’s performing. I tried to imagine the concentration needed for that.
Key things I started to pick apart:
- The source of light: that triangular window with the star. It felt super important. Not just any light, but cosmic, almost divine light.
- The instruments: the magnifying glass, the palette connected to tubes (are those colors from her own veins? Some people say that!), and that stringed instrument applying the color. I really pondered what each of them represented.
- The birds themselves: some still on paper, some taking flight, some already free. It shows a progression, a whole cycle.
Then I kind of zoomed out again, trying to get the overall atmosphere. It's so quiet, so focused. You can almost hear the gentle scratching of her instrument and the soft flutter of wings. The colors are muted but rich, giving it this old-world, almost mystical feel. I thought about what it would be like to be in that room.
I also spent some time thinking about what Varo was trying to say. For me, it became less about just painting birds and more about the act of creation itself. The artist as this almost magical being, channeling something bigger to bring ideas to life. It felt like she was showing us the painstaking, delicate, and almost sacred process of making art. It's not just slapping paint on a canvas; it's this intricate, alchemical process.
Honestly, at first, it felt a bit like a puzzle. All these strange tools and the serious owl-person. But the more I looked, the more it started to make a kind of emotional sense. It wasn’t about literal bird-making, but about that spark, that intense focus when you’re deeply into making something.
What I Got Out of It
By the end of my "session" with it, I felt like I’d really connected with the painting. I didn’t just see a picture; I felt the artist's dedication, the magic of creation. It made me appreciate the thought and feeling that goes into art, not just the final product. It was a good reminder that creating anything worthwhile takes focus, the right tools (even if they're metaphorical), and maybe a little bit of starlight.
So yeah, that was my little journey with "Creation of the Birds." Just taking the time to really sit with a piece of art, break it down, and let it speak to you. It's a pretty rewarding thing to do, I reckon.
