A while ago I came across this scrapbook on Edward Hopper.
I’ve been a fan of Hopper’s paintings for some time now, and there’s something about his work that really appeals. There’s such a wonderful quality rendered to his scenes—that which is unsaid, things which aren’t painted, the missing artifact or person. So much is suggested from light, from what is framed. I wish there was more art or fiction like this.
I often wonder about a similar technique in fiction. I get the same kind of feeling when I look at his work that I do reading a Katherine Mansfield story, or a Hemingway novel. The things that are working unseen—sometimes obviously so—beneath the prose. You can look at a Hopper painting for hours wondering about the direction in which he was sending you, so have a look at the scrapbook, explore.
