How Does the Human Form in Abstract Figurative Paintings Anchor the Viewer’s Experience?

Human Form in Abstract Figurative Paintings Art

Abstract figurative art occupies a fascinating middle ground between pure abstraction and recognizable realism. Amid swaths of color and gestural brushstrokes, hints of the human form can emerge – a subtle silhouette, a fragmented face, or a distorted body. These elusive human form in abstract figurative paintings are more than just hidden surprises; they serve as interpretive anchors that ground the viewer’s experience. While often overlooked in discussions of abstract art, the human element plays a crucial role in providing emotional depth and meaning. How exactly does a partial or obscured human form guide our perception and feelings in front of an abstract painting? Let’s explore the psychology, artistic purpose, and viewing experience of finding the human figure within abstraction.

displaying abstract figurative canvas prints, bartosz beda

The Psychology of Recognizing the Human Form in Paintings

Human brains are remarkably wired to seek out human forms – especially faces – even in the vaguest of images. This tendency, known as pareidolia, means we often perceive meaning or familiar shapes in random stimuli. It’s a survival-driven trait: our minds constantly scan for recognizable patterns (like a face) as a way to make sense of our environment (Pareidolia and the Pitfalls of Subjective Interpretation of Ambiguous Images in Art History – MIT Press). Neuroscience has shown that a specialized area of the brain (the fusiform gyrus) lights up not just when we see an actual face, but even when we glimpse something face-like (Pareidolia and the Pitfalls of Subjective Interpretation of Ambiguous Images in Art History – MIT Press). Just two dots and a line can register as eyes and a mouth. This hair-trigger recognition system is so strong that in one study, 39% of participants saw phantom faces in pure static noise (Pareidolia and the Pitfalls of Subjective Interpretation of Ambiguous Images in Art History – MIT Press). In short, anything remotely resembling a person will grab our attention at a deep cognitive level.

This hardwired response explains why even a partial or distorted human figure in art immediately draws us in. The brain wants to interpret that ambiguous shape as human, providing an instant anchor in an otherwise abstract composition. Psychologists note that we instinctively seek familiar forms and will “fill in” missing pieces to perceive a whole (Pareidolia and the Pitfalls of Subjective Interpretation of Ambiguous Images in Art History – MIT Press). For example, in the surreal portraits of Arcimboldo (composed of fruits and objects), viewers still zero in on the “eyes” and “face” implied by the arrangement (Pareidolia and the Pitfalls of Subjective Interpretation of Ambiguous Images in Art History – MIT Press). Similarly, if an abstract painting offers just a flicker of a figure – perhaps a contour that could be a shoulder or a smudge suggestive of an eye – our perception latches on. This creates a comforting point of reference amidst abstraction.

Beyond recognition, there’s an emotional trigger too. Seeing a human silhouette or face, however warped, sparks empathy and curiosity. Cognitive research suggests that when familiar patterns are present but altered, it creates a mix of intrigue and slight unease (Can Abstract Figurative Art Incorporate Portraiture, and How Does That Affect the Viewer’s Perception? | Bartosz Beda). We sense the human presence but also notice something’s off, engaging us both emotionally and intellectually. In effect, the mere hint of a person in an abstract piece activates a “human connection” in the viewer’s mind – a feeling that someone is in there – which anchors our experience and encourages us to interpret the work on a more personal level.

The Role of the Human Figure in Abstract Art

In abstract art, the inclusion of a human figure (even if fragmented or obscured) provides a critical touchstone of familiarity. For viewers adrift in non-representational swirls of color, a recognizable human element can be like spotting land from a boat – it gives orientation. Artists have long understood this balance between ambiguity and recognition. A partially visible figure can make an abstract composition more accessible without fully giving away its mystery. The viewer is invited to engage, to resolve the ambiguity: Is that a person I see? This interplay is intentional – it activates the imagination. As one art writer noted, such figurative hints “call out for interpretation,” prompting viewers to project meaning onto the shapes and thus participate in the creation of the artwork’s narrative (Can Abstract Figurative Art Incorporate Portraiture, and How Does That Affect the Viewer’s Perception? | Bartosz Beda).

Historically, many major artists have leveraged figurative anchors in their abstract works to enrich their art’s impact. For example, during the mid-20th century heyday of pure abstraction, some painters stubbornly retained the human form in their canvases, offering a counterpoint to total non-objectivity. Here are a few notable artists and how they used the human figure in abstraction:

  • Willem de Kooning (1904–1997) – A leader in Abstract Expressionism, de Kooning famously introduced aggressive, semi-abstract female figures into his paintings. His Woman series (1950–53) features slashing brushstrokes and dripping paint coalescing into a grotesque female form. This fusion of figuration and abstraction was controversial but powerful: the familiar shape of a woman’s body gave viewers something to recognize, even as the wild style kept the meaning enigmatic. De Kooning believed that even in abstraction, art needed a link to reality – “even abstract shapes must have a likeness,” he said (de Kooning at MoMA – part 1 | notes on bikes, art, and things that make me smile). Indeed, one remarkable aspect of his career was the ability to move fluidly between figurative and abstract modes, ultimately synthesizing the two (Artist Info). His abstracted figures provide a jarring yet relatable presence that anchors his paintings in human experience.
  • Francis Bacon (1909–1992) – In stark contrast to his contemporaries’ pure abstractions, Bacon created a unique and unsettling form of realism by distorting the human figure. He once said he wanted his paintings to feel as if “a human being had passed between them… leaving a trail of the human presence” (Francis Bacon Paintings, Bio, Ideas | TheArtStory). Bacon’s canvases are filled with contorted faces, screaming mouths, and twisted bodies that are undeniably figurative yet far from realistic. These grotesque figures serve as emotional anchors – one can’t help but search for the person inside the distortion. Bacon deliberately turned away from wholly abstract trends of his era, instead using abstraction in service of the figure. The result, as one analysis notes, is a “raw emotional power” that is both modern and deeply human (Exploring Francis Bacon: Revealing Human Condition Through Distortion — History of Art #9 — Play For Thoughts) (Exploring Francis Bacon: Revealing Human Condition Through Distortion — History of Art #9 — Play For Thoughts). His paintings, like Study after Velázquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X (1953), feature a familiar subject (a seated man) rendered in smears and slashes. The human form is there, anchoring us, but it’s been pushed to a psychological extreme – a tactic that forces the viewer to confront the human condition in a new way.
  • Cecily Brown (b. 1969) – A contemporary painter, Brown is known for walking the line between abstraction and figuration. At first glance, her large canvases appear as lush, chaotic explosions of color and brushwork. Spend more time, though, and faces and bodies begin to emerge and recede within the paint. Brown has stated that she “never wanted to let go of the figure” but equally resists pinning her images down to a clear narrative (Cecily Brown Paintings, Bio, Ideas | TheArtStory). Her goal is to have it both ways: she avoids the terms figurative or abstract because her work really exists in between (Cecily Brown Paintings, Bio, Ideas | TheArtStory). In practice, this means a viewer might sense the outline of a limb or the curve of a torso hidden among energetic strokes. Those subtle figurative clues act like hooks, drawing the viewer into a prolonged search for meaning. Brown’s paintings are often described as erotically charged and intensely engaging because the suggestion of human bodies triggers associative thoughts and emotions in the viewer (Cecily Brown and the Associative Abstract Painting – IdeelArt.com). The human form, though partial and dissolving, gives the audience a foothold – a way to connect emotionally in the midst of her rich abstraction.
  • Bartosz Beda (b. 1984) – A more recent artist working in abstract figurative modes, Beda often paints portraits and figures that are partially blurred or obscured. In his work, a face might be smeared into a swirl of paint, or a body may fade into the background. This technique intentionally erases specific identity, making the figure more universal and mysterious (Bartosz Beda: interview: ‘In chaos, there is always some kind of order’). The human form is clearly present, but it’s been anonymized, inviting viewers to project their own interpretations. Beda describes this as a way to balance the painting “between the abstract and the representational,” keeping the content open-ended (Bartosz Beda: interview: ‘In chaos, there is always some kind of order’). By obscuring faces, he removes the immediate recognition of a portrait, yet the silhouette or posture remains as an anchor. Viewers still feel the human presence and are guided by it, even as they wonder who or what it might be. This strategy, as one critic notes, creates a sense of mystery and encourages multiple readings of the artwork (Exploring the Layered Visions of Bartosz Beda on Artsy.net – Artdaily). Beda’s approach shows that even in contemporary art, artists continue to use the human figure as a bridge to meaning – providing enough of a familiar form to engage us, while leveraging abstraction to keep us exploring.

In all these cases, the human figure – whether aggressively deconstructed or gently hidden – provides a sense of familiarity in an abstract composition. It’s a focal point the viewer can latch onto. We recognize something of ourselves (another person) on the canvas, and that sparks a connection. At the same time, because the figure is distorted or partial, it doesn’t resolve into a simple story; it remains ambiguous. This careful balance between the known and unknown is what makes abstract figurative paintings so captivating. The figure acts as a guidepost, keeping us emotionally invested as we navigate the abstract landscape around it.

How a Hidden Face or Silhouette Creates Emotional Depth

There is a special kind of power in a hidden face. In everyday life, so much of our emotional reading comes from facial expressions – we automatically look to the eyes and mouth of a person for cues. So what happens when an artist obscures those cues in a painting? The effect is often a mix of intrigue and disquiet that adds significant emotional depth.

When a face in a painting is blurred out, turned away, or covered, it creates a void that the viewer’s mind itches to fill. We find ourselves asking: Who is this? What are they feeling? The ambiguity is compelling. Psychological studies indicate that when we see a human figure but cannot clearly read the face, our brains don’t simply give up – instead, we become even more active in searching for meaning (Can Abstract Figurative Art Incorporate Portraiture, and How Does That Affect the Viewer’s Perception? | Bartosz Beda) (Can Abstract Figurative Art Incorporate Portraiture, and How Does That Affect the Viewer’s Perception? | Bartosz Beda). This can lead to a stronger emotional engagement as we project our own feelings or memories onto the ambiguous figure. An obscured face is essentially a mirror; we might subconsciously supply it with emotions from our own experience, whether it’s sadness, longing, or fear. The result is often a painting that feels deeply personal or haunting, as if it holds secrets just out of reach.

Artists have used this technique to great effect. Francis Bacon’s portraits, for instance, often feature smeared or partially dissolved faces – think of his self-portraits where the eyes might be just empty pits of paint. These images are unsettling, yet profoundly moving. Bacon believed that to convey the truth of an emotion, one might need to distort the human form. “If you want to convey fact, this can only ever be done through a form of distortion,” he argued (Exploring Francis Bacon: Revealing Human Condition Through Distortion — History of Art #9 — Play For Thoughts). By obscuring the face, Bacon strips away the easy readability of a person and forces us to confront a rawer psychological reality. The viewer is left with a scream without a clear face, as in his famous Pope Innocent X series – a visual metaphor for existential anguish. We cannot identify the person, but we can feel the terror. In a sense, the hidden or distorted face in Bacon’s work becomes more powerful than a clear face ever could; it stands as an icon of universal suffering rather than a portrait of an individual.

Similarly, many contemporary figurative painters deliberately leave faces blank or indistinct to evoke mystery and universality. A blurred face suggests that the story is not about a specific person’s features, but about something deeper – memory, identity, or emotion itself. Bartosz Beda, as mentioned, obscures facial details “to erase their individuality” so that viewers can “read them through many lenses” (Bartosz Beda: interview: ‘In chaos, there is always some kind of order’) (Bartosz Beda: interview: ‘In chaos, there is always some kind of order’). This generalization means anyone could inhabit that figure, allowing a kind of empathy that’s more inclusive. The emotional impact often intensifies; a faceless figure could be a loved one, a stranger, or oneself, depending on who’s looking. It’s no coincidence that faceless or silhouetted figures often appear in paintings dealing with themes of loss, anonymity, or social commentary – by hiding the face, the artist invites us to consider the emotional state or narrative context more deeply.

Even a simple silhouette – say, the dark outline of a body against an abstract background – can carry immense emotional weight. Silhouettes have a long history in art as suggestive devices; without interior detail, they rely entirely on posture and context to convey feeling. In abstract figurative painting, a lone silhouette might communicate isolation or mystery. Because we cannot see who the person is, we concentrate on what they are doing or feeling as conveyed by their shape or gesture. For example, a hunched silhouette amid chaotic brushstrokes might evoke a sense of despair in a turbulent world, whereas a silhouette with arms raised could suggest triumph or surrender, depending on the surrounding colors and forms. The ambiguity pushes us to interpret actively, which forges a more personal emotional response.

There’s also a subtle play of discomfort and attraction in viewing obscured human forms. On one hand, a missing face or a distorted body can be unsettling – it violates our expectations and can even tap into the uncanny. On the other hand, we are drawn in by the puzzle of it. This tension itself creates an emotional depth: the viewer oscillates between empathy (recognizing a fellow human presence) and intellectual curiosity (trying to decode the abstraction). Art that elicits this dual reaction tends to linger in our minds. We might find ourselves returning to the painting, looking closer, searching for the ghost of a face in those brushstrokes. Each time, the painting “unleashes a whole array of feelings” precisely because it withholds complete information (When you deny the viewer’s ability to see the face in a painting, you). In leaving the human form partially hidden, the artist ensures that the viewer’s emotional engagement remains active and unresolved – which can be a profoundly affecting experience.

Bridging Abstract Shapes and Realism

One of the remarkable functions of the human form in abstract painting is how it bridges the gap between pure abstraction and concrete reality. A single figure can act as a translator between two visual languages: the intuitive realm of colors and forms on one side, and the recognizable world of people and objects on the other. This bridge makes the artwork accessible on multiple levels and often imbues it with a dynamic, living quality.

From a formal perspective, the inclusion of a figurative element gives context to abstract shapes. As the abstract master Wassily Kandinsky noted, pure abstract elements (line, color, shape) carry spiritual and emotional content, but without representation they remain in the realm of feeling and composition. Introduce even a vague human shape, and suddenly those abstract elements gain a sort of narrative potential – they might become environment, clothing, or movement around the figure. In other words, the human figure provides a scale and story against which abstract forms can be measured. A slashing red brushstroke next to an abstracted body might read as an emotion (anger, violence) or a symbol (blood, passion) simply because the body is there to give it context.

Many artists have explicitly considered this balance. Willem de Kooning, for instance, talked about not pinning his paintings down too much, yet he famously remarked that “even abstract shapes must have a likeness” (de Kooning at MoMA – part 1 | notes on bikes, art, and things that make me smile). What he meant was that completely free-form shapes in a painting still often derive from something observed – and in his case, that was frequently the human figure. In his painting Excavation (1950), de Kooning created a teeming composition of interlocking forms that border on pure abstraction, yet hidden throughout are suggestions of eyes, teeth, and limbs. These embedded figurative bits act as a connective tissue between the chaos of shapes, giving the painting an underlying cohesion (as if an invisible anatomy holds it together). The gestures of the abstract marks mimic real gestures of the body – a curve that feels like the arch of a back, or an angle that feels like a bent elbow – lending the canvas a sense of motion and life. Thus, the human form serves as a structural anchor: it anchors not just meaning, but composition and movement as well, tying the abstract elements back to the physical sensations of a body in space.

Another way the figure bridges abstraction and realism is through implied motion and body language. Abstract art often captures energy and motion through brushwork and flow. When these dynamic strokes also outline a body or follow a human gesture, the result is a powerful illusion of movement that we register almost viscerally. Consider a painting where a swirl of paint suggests a dancer’s torso in motion – the abstraction conveys grace and energy, and the faint human form lets us identify that energy as dance. We suddenly relate to the motion because we recognize it as a human action. This fusion can make an abstract painting feel performative, as if the figure is doing something in front of us. It’s a bridge between seeing a static image and almost witnessing an event. The viewer’s experience toggles between appreciating the formal beauty of abstract strokes and empathizing with the implied physicality of the figure.

A great example of bridging can be seen in the work of contemporary painter Cecily Brown. As mentioned, her canvases live in the in-between of figuration and abstraction. Viewers often describe the moment of recognizing figures in her paintings as revelatory – a shift happens when a jumble of strokes snaps into focus as a human form. One minute you’re admiring color and composition, the next you see a horse and rider, or lovers entwined, emerging from the abstraction. Brown has said that she wants the experience of looking to mirror the process of her painting: “you go from the big picture to something very intense and detailed, and then back again” (Cecily Brown and the Associative Abstract Painting | Ideelart). The human figure is the fulcrum of this see-saw. It provides that intense point of focus (the detailed recognition) before your eye zooms out again to take in the whole abstract scene. In this way, the figure mediates between the viewer’s imagination and the painting’s formal qualities. It gives the imagination a spark (a recognizable person or action), which then fires off interpretations about the otherwise abstract surrounding.

Furthermore, the human form can lend a sense of reality or gravity to an abstract painting’s theme. Abstract art can sometimes be accused of being too esoteric or detached from real life. But add a human element and the artwork often feels immediately more relatable or consequential. A canvas of wild, dark brushstrokes might be about chaos in general – add the faint outline of a curled-up body in a corner, and suddenly it evokes human suffering amidst chaos, a much more relatable theme. The figure grounds the abstraction in real-world experience. It says, “This isn’t just an arrangement of shapes; it’s also about us, our bodies, our presence in the world.” This bridging role of the figure is why so many artists during tumultuous historical periods infused abstraction with human forms: it was a way to comment on reality (war, despair, hope) without abandoning the expressive freedom of abstraction.

In summary, the human form in an abstract figurative painting acts as a pivotal link between two worlds. It allows abstract shapes to transcend pure form and speak to lived human experience. At the same time, it lets representational content explode beyond literal depiction into the freer, more interpretive realm of abstraction. This synergy can make a painting incredibly rich and multifaceted. The viewer can appreciate the drips, lines, and colors for their own sake, and find meaning in the suggestion of a figure. The painting lives on both levels, and the human anchor is what makes that possible.

Viewing Experience: How the Human Figure Guides Interpretation

For the viewer standing in front of an abstract figurative painting, the presence of a human form is often the compass by which they navigate the artwork. Even if the figure is partial or concealed, once the eye detects it, it tends to become a focal point. Human perception naturally gives priority to other humans; experiments with eye-tracking have shown that when a face is present in an image, people’s eyes will almost always go to it first (Pareidolia and the Pitfalls of Subjective Interpretation of Ambiguous Images in Art History – MIT Press). In a painting, this means the viewer’s journey through the canvas often begins with the figure. From there, the figure guides the interpretation in several ways.

First, the emotional tone of the painting is frequently set by the figurative element. A viewer encountering an abstract work with no recognizable subject might initially engage with it through intellectual or formal lenses – noticing the color harmony, the balance of composition, or the mood it generally evokes. But introduce a hidden human figure, and viewers often respond emotionally: Is that figure in pain, at peace, isolated, connected? We start asking human questions. Our natural empathy is activated. For instance, if you discern what looks like a solitary person in a vast field of abstraction, you might feel a sense of loneliness from the piece. If you see two blurred figures interacting, you might start sensing tension or tenderness. The figure provides a narrative hook – even if it’s ambiguous, we instinctively begin to craft a story or emotion around it. Different viewers may imagine different narratives (one might see a mother and child where another sees two lovers, for example), but in all cases, the figure has oriented them toward an interpretation anchored in human experience.

Interestingly, the intellectual engagement with the artwork can also deepen because of the figurative anchor. With pure abstraction, interpretations can be wildly varied and sometimes intimidating (“am I reading this right?”). A human form gives a hint that can focus interpretive possibilities. It doesn’t hand us a single meaning, but it narrows the field a bit – we know the painting involves a person, so we start there. From that anchor, we can then explore the rest of the painting’s elements in relation to the figure. We might ponder, Why is the figure fragmented? or What environment is suggested by these abstract forms around the person? Cultures and individual viewers will bring their own contexts to these questions. In art history, we see, for example, how different movements interpreted abstracted figures according to their cultural psyche: Surrealists saw disjointed figures as expressions of the subconscious or dreams, Abstract Expressionists like de Kooning used them to grapple with identity and chaos post-World War II, and contemporary global artists might use partially abstract figures to comment on digital-era identity or cultural fusion. Each viewer, informed by their background, might lean towards one interpretation or another – but the human form ensures they’re at least asking human-centric questions about the painting’s meaning.

The human figure also guides the viewer’s eye across the composition. We often look at a painting the way we would observe a scene in real life: we focus on people first, then radiate outward. So, you spot a distorted face in one corner; then perhaps your gaze follows the direction of that face’s gaze (if eyes are implied) or the motion suggested by a limb, leading you to the next part of the canvas. Artists can use this to direct attention. For example, a silhouette might be positioned off-center, looking or moving toward an abstract shape, subtly cueing the viewer to look there next. In this way, the figure acts almost like a guide within the painting’s world, a pointer saying “look here” or “this is important.” Even an obscured face can have this effect – if the body language is oriented a certain way, we follow the implied action. This creates a narrative flow or at least a logical path for the viewer to take in the imagery.

Another aspect to consider is how the viewer’s relationship to the artwork shifts thanks to the figurative element. With a purely abstract painting, the experience can feel more introspective or open-ended – the viewer might project their mood onto it without restraint. But if a human form is present, the viewer often feels a connection to that figure. It becomes almost a social or empathetic interaction: you, as the viewer, are engaging with another “being” (albeit a painted one). This can make the experience more interactive. We might find ourselves almost in dialogue with the artwork – “Why do you (the figure) look sad? What are you experiencing in this swirl of color?” The artwork, in a sense, looks back through the eyes of its figurative subject. This dynamic can be especially powerful when the figure’s face is somewhat visible and seems to meet the viewer’s gaze; even if blurred, a hinted gaze creates a direct confrontation or connection. On the flip side, if the figure has its back turned or face hidden, the viewer may feel like a silent observer, drawn in to investigate what’s happening to “them.” In both cases, the human form shapes the interpersonal dimension of viewing art – it’s no longer just shapes on a canvas, it’s you and this representation of a human, sharing a moment.

Finally, there’s a cross-cultural universality to the human form that guides interpretation broadly. Every culture understands the body, gesture, and facial expressions to some degree. While specific symbols or abstract styles might be interpreted very differently across cultures, a human figure provides a more universal entry point. A viewer from Tokyo and one from Paris might have different takes on a wildly abstract background, but if both see the outline of a person hunched over, they will likely both infer a somber mood or a struggle. The universality of the human body as a language means that abstract figurative art can communicate across diverse audiences. We all know what it’s like to inhabit a body, to feel emotions through posture and movement. Abstract art that incorporates those familiar corporeal clues can tap into that shared understanding. This has been leveraged by artists in various cultures – for instance, indigenous Australian artists often include humanoid silhouettes in abstract dreamtime paintings to indicate ancestral spirits, which viewers recognize as “human-like presence” even if the style is highly stylized; or in modern art, an abstracted figure can serve as a politically charged universal Everyman that global audiences grasp as “person in turmoil” or “rebel” without needing textual explanation.

In essence, the human form guides the viewing experience by making the abstract personal. It adds eyes through which we see the painting, feet with which we walk through it, and a heart with which we feel its impact. As viewers, once we find that human anchor, we hold on to it. It is our companion in deciphering the abstract – sometimes comforting, sometimes challenging, but always deeply engaging. The interplay between seeing paint as paint and seeing paint as person is the magical tension at the core of abstract figurative art, and it’s what keeps viewers returning to these works, finding new meanings and feelings each time.

The Human Form is the Secret Ingredient That Transforms Random Shapes

In abstract figurative painting, the human form is the secret ingredient that transforms random shapes into resonant stories. A barely-there silhouette or distorted face can be the thin thread that ties a viewer’s psyche to the canvas, ensuring that the experience is not only visual but also cognitive and emotional. This interpretive anchor does not moor the work to a single meaning; rather, it steadies the viewer just enough so they can embark on their own imaginative journey through the abstraction. From the brain’s innate face-detection systems to the heart’s response to body language, we are predisposed to seek and respond to the human figure – and artists exploit this brilliantly. They hide and reveal the figure in turn, letting us find ourselves (and our emotions) in their paintings.

Whether it’s Francis Bacon contorting a body to scream a deeper truth, Willem de Kooning wrestling a female form out of a frenzy of brushstrokes, Cecily Brown teasing our perception with figures that dance in and out of focus, or Bartosz Beda blurring a face to invite myriad interpretations – the strategies may differ, but the outcome is similar. The human presence bridges the gap between art and observer. It whispers: This chaos has meaning – find it. It assures us there is a human story amid the abstraction, however abstract that story might be.

In a world where much of modern art moved toward pure abstraction, these figurative anchors remind us of something fundamental: no matter how abstract art becomes, it is ultimately made by and for humans. The silhouette in the swirl, the face in the fog of paint – these keep us grounded, engaged, and emotionally connected. They are the touch of life in the art, the echo of the artist and the mirror of the viewer. And as long as they continue to hide within the canvas, we will continue to seek them, finding meaning in their suggestive forms and feeling the profound impact of seeing ourselves, however fragmentarily, in art.

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