When I was younger, the only art I really liked were portraits. I needed to see a face. Something about that face let me reckon the work, make sense of it, be moved by it. I needed the human element, that inflection of distinctly human being, that sense that it could be me, that this was some variation of me, one possibility within the infinite variegation of humanity.
Last night’s CBS Evening News ran an original and pretty moving story about John Bramblitt, a husband and father who went blind at the age of 30 due to complications from epilepsy. Bramblitt has figured out how to paint just by feeling the paints: he says different colors have different textures.