"An educated critic should have known the author of the painting." I said to myself.
"Unless it is not a famous one and the painting is only there as the result of a family portrait, another vestige of yet another dethroned aristocrat", was my second thought.
As I am not one of the former, an image search would have helped. "No results! Best guess for this image: crowd!"
Time to ask for a higher resolution of the picture to decipher the mystery. Or should I?
"No need!" I have concluded. Martin got me! In the frame, in the frame of the frame, in the mystery of a mystery, in the secret of a secret.
"Truth is not objectivity, authenticity can stand without veracity" they say. And yet this image beats any logical conclusion drawn from essays on representations in art. It beats any aesthetic argument based on which we may explain (partially by default) its impact.
Because, dear readers, the painting just flowed out and recreated a room where only the blue shirt stayed in place. Even the "obvious" keeper denies her role through her posture.
Everything switches continuously back and forth. The lady into a girl, the walls into screens, the mouldings into puzzle pieces, the floor into Aladdin's magic carpet.
Sometimes (if not always) we should not try to explain nor talk about principles or aesthetics, but this time, for sure.
The image is a cry out: "Purists keep out, pure viewers welcome and step in!"
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