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The fun thing about art criticism, and the reason I firmly believe in the "death of the author" school of critique, is that even the choices an artist made in the face of constraints, or as a snap decision at three am, often do carry some meaning, and not always one the artist themselves recognize, either. Presumably they could've gone out and gotten more green. They could've transitioned to bright blue, or purple, or yellow. But they looked at the piece done in grey, and instead of going "Yikes, that's way more bleak than I thought it would be, I'm gonna buy some more green and redo this," they seem to be satisfied with the final piece. And that means that interpretations that find meaning in the color choice aren't necessarily invalid just because the artist wasn't consciously thinking about what they were doing when they ran out of green at 3 am. Or, for that matter, that an interpretation of an art piece can't be valid just because it's counter to what the artist themselves had in mind. |
I hope this comment is a gift of laughter to you in your day.