Although she is a skilled draftswoman, a woman's
foot still might very well fade into its surroundings as if
unfinished, neglected, because the colors' sensual truth became her
objective all of a sudden rather than the footís realistic,
objective boundaries. She moves from one truth to another freely and
without fear, many times in the same picture, evidently with the
conviction that these seemingly different or even opposite
perspectives arenít contrary to one another.
Not for her.
I am playing, she says, when painting. At first one might assume
this to be a form of modesty, of low self-esteem. However, later one
cannot but realize that she does indeed mean it, literally. Playing,
in the sense of the happiness of a child at play. The total
self-sufficient thereness. The abandonment and absorbance into the
moment. The Submerging in the absolute present, happiness not being
Thus she paints. And lives.
To paint is a way to look, to see, to ponder, to understand, she
says, and teaches. To paint is to enjoy and see. The happiness of
doing and a way of looking, are her gifts as a painter and teacher.
Although delicate looking and reserved, her strokes are confident,
powerful and intense. As if scrutiny, observance, restraint, and
wildness all blend in each brush stroke. A true painter. The
material being the key, the window. And the object, the person;
always a physicality, always matter itself too.
Barbara Goldschmidt believes in substance, the glory of the
physical in its innate abstraction, its purity and truth.
In that strange special place where the what and the who are one.