What it really needed was some. . .

smaller drawing on it. Why wouldn't it? I mean there's small and then there's small and why should I hold back on all the rich smallness I have to offer?

You hear a lot of talk concerning small art. People are apt to say that the scale of small work brings the viewer in. It attracts closeness. It's intimate. The physiological action of focusing on all the tiny detail requires eliminating all but the smallest amount of space that will still let in light. To the observer there seems to be a closeness that could easily be mistaken for an art-viewer relationship. Sounds charming, right?



Couldn't the smallness also represent a vast space? A seeing-in-the-distance of massive shapes combining and aligning themselves into pattern-like structures. From the perspective of planets like proportions of thoughts and relative rhetorical arguments on the matter of scale. We think we can focus on what we see, but it's only ever the truth we can recognize in regards to our scale in relation to the object. Waves that emanate from the surface of the thing will always translate themselves to a common scale of perception.



I'm sure the mites on our bodies would describe skin to us in a shocking manner could they possess this same talent for translating perceptions. Yet we still feel we recognize our skin. And when we eliminate all but the smallest amount of space that will still let in light and focus on our skin, we see our version.