On the wall in my home office hangs a painting of my father’s, Summer Day, 14”x9”.
My father was a retired dentist, likely about 75 years old when he painted it; about 30 years ago.
The large tree on the left tickled my imagination a bit, imagining a small breeze, teasing the branches into small dances.
I thought, pictures in motion. Paintings in motion.
I soon imagined a 3D monitor capable of texture including the impasto of the impressionists. Such a thing could breathe life into a painting – and still keep it a painting (of sorts).
I imagined, clouds moving, the sun arcing across the sky. A storm. Nighttime. Even syncing time of day to the painting.
I got a bit carried away.
But the painting had the breath of life now, so subtle a casual glance would not reveal its true nature.
Then, stepping into that living painting.
Not a replica but a reconstruction.
A painting is a singular, windowed perspective, represented in two dimensions. From the painting, reconstruct that perspective into a living, breathing world which can be explored.
First, I imagined the living world without the artist’s hand.
Then overlayed the Hand of the Artist on every item in that world.
As a more appropriate painting, Entrance to a Village by Meindert Hobbema.
I imagined a reactive and interactive world.
A persistent world, with memory.
If you step off the dirt path and into the impasto mud of Hobbema's village, your footprint remains. The world remembers you were there.
A world to share and explore together with friends.
A museum could have many worlds, each a painting. Patrons could portal between the VR worlds of paintings.
A galaxy of worlds.
I was so excited.
I am so excited.
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