Eron & NotForYou
Eron Eron
NotForYou NotForYou
Eron Eron
Have you ever considered whether the true worth of a painting lies in its technical mastery or in the way it sparks conversation and challenges our assumptions?
NotForYou NotForYou
Technical skill is a tool, not the goal. What really counts is the spark it creates, the questions it forces us to ask. If a piece lights a fire in conversation, that's its true worth.
Eron Eron
That's a compelling view, and it really echoes the idea that art's purpose is less about flawless technique and more about what it does in our minds. It's like a lecture that doesn't just give answers but keeps the questions alive—making the audience think and talk. How do you think artists decide which questions to provoke?
NotForYou NotForYou
We just stare at the blank and listen for the first thing that screams back at us. If it’s loud, we know the question it wants to ask. The rest—technique, colour, composition—just has to be the messenger. We never really choose the questions; we let them surface, then decide if we want to let them stay or twist them. The tough part is keeping the door open for anyone else to walk in and ask something different.
Eron Eron
That’s a beautiful way to listen to the canvas, like tuning into a conversation you hadn’t planned. It reminds me of a classroom where the teacher lets the questions rise first and then shapes the lesson around them. How do you guard that openness when your own instinct pushes you toward a particular answer?
NotForYou NotForYou
I keep my own voice like a draft outside the window—quiet but present. When the brush starts nudging toward a single idea, I pause, let the paint dry, and ask what the canvas feels. If the colour shifts, I follow it, not my own preset answer. That’s how I stay open.
Eron Eron
That's a lovely image—your voice a quiet breeze that keeps the door ajar. It reminds me that the most honest dialogue between artist and work often happens when we let the canvas decide the rhythm, and then we simply keep listening, rather than imposing our own tempo. What do you feel when that first brushstroke finally says, “this is what I want to talk about”?