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In my twenties, I would have said Dali or Goya; like most young people, awestricken I was for a phase with Dadaism and sensational brushworks. Over time, my aesthetic preferences have changed. Far-out and surreal masterpieces no longer fascinate me as they once did. (Nor have I ever understood drip painting -- the spontaneous act of splashing paint on a canvas, a la Jackson Pollack, and calling it art.) I prefer methodical and meticulous artworks and actual brushstrokes.
Henri Rousseau and Gaugin immediately come to mind. The former had an innocent, child-like quality to his work, and Gaugin got to live for a time as a bohemian surrounded by Tahitian beauties.
Raphael and El Greco are two others I like, whose works appeal to my more pensive, contemplative side.
To select just one among these as being my absolute favorite I cannot do; it all depends on what mood I'm in.
I would like to highlight one artist, however, whose talent as a painter was, in my view, practically beyond compare.
Vermeer.
His style was immaculate, his brushwork exceptionally detailed and precise. His still life pieces and interiors were so exact they were near-photographic representations of the real image.
He treated and viewed even mundane objects as worthy of his undivided attention, as if these ordinarily overlooked things were not just trivialities but purposeful and very much alive and deserving to be noted and respected.
I love the fine arts. It is what distinguishes us from the beasts. I enjoy frequenting galleries even more than I do museums.
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