He returns to this red-green combo again and again, and that includes his 1942 masterpiece Nighthawks, the famous scene of four alienated people trapped in a No Exit diner. The restaurant is an oasis of acid artificial light on a deserted midnight Manhattan corner. A couple sit together at one end of the counter ignoring each other. Around the corner a guy sits alone, with his back to us. The counter man keeps himself busy at the right. Any conversation seems to have gone dead. The air is thick with dread, like the moment before everything goes wrong in a film noir.
But when he’s on, he gets us to put ourselves in his dramas, to identify with the isolation of his characters, the existential distance that buzzes between any two persons. It’s a wonderfully dark trap, with the hope for human connection forever frustrated because paintings never change.
A propósito da tua pergunta sobre isto, claro. Agora entendes, muito embora eu ache que os artista nunca têm razão, apenas razões.