I feel giddy as hell when I look at Egon Schiele's work. I want to touch his hands and feel the blood within the details. He's beautiful. Following the guiding hand of Klimt, Schiele exhibits softness and intrigue in his paintings by using the mellowness of tired beiges and the romance of grassiness, but then twisting and angulating the figures. I can feel the way his fingers dribbled the paint across the paper, the insecurity in the lines, or the absence of precision, because my drawing teacher last year told me some of my sketches bore a remarkable resemblence. And i blushed. Are you flirting with me Charles? No Jamie. I am not. I would love to marry a painter. And get messy with paint. I'm so inspired right now....
Schiele fell victim to the Spanish Flu in October 1918, and died at 28 years old.
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