One Work: Mona Lisa by Leonardo Da Vinci

Leonardo, you did well. Your masterpiece is certainly something to be consumed in quiet reflection.

Quiet, cold reflection.

Famed for her ambiguity and any number of secrets that lie beneath the layers of robes she adorns.

Oh, Mona, why do so many people lose their fucking minds over your mastery?

Sure, you have elegance, and Leonardo did a remarkable job of convincing art to breathe and live.

For me, though, that kind of perfection can feel almost soulless. Balanced harmony, anatomical brilliance and technical mastery aren't necessarily what make art unforgettable.

I'm not trying to piss off Da Vinci fans—I don't care enough. When I compare a Da Vinci to something like Picasso's, I see no comparison in how much I feel.

That may be my failing, and perhaps I just don't see what the massive throng of Da Vinci acolytes see. But that's the beauty of art. Its subjective nature.

As an Italian, it pains me not to love everything Italian—especially something so many bestow such adulation upon. However, I've really always been more of a Caravaggio man, so perhaps that explains it.

Where the Mona Lisa leaves me emotionally distant, Picasso's wild and vivid L'Atelier leaves me feeling many things.

Leonardo may well have perfected the use of oil to bring a visual treat of realism to life, but with his fragmented, misshapen abstraction, Picasso encourages us to participate, to question, and to experience what it feels like to be an artist—to be a creator.

More often than not, that's exactly what I try to achieve with my own poetry.

Author's Note: This piece is connected to Harper Lewis's One Work: L'Atelier. Harper's reflection on Picasso's studio scene led me to consider another artist often regarded as the pinnacle of Western art. Rather than asking why the Mona Lisa is considered a masterpiece, I found myself asking why it leaves me emotionally distant while Picasso's work draws me in.

For Raymond's challenge:

I'd be interested to hear that others think!