L’Aveugle Parmi Les Oiseaux 1978

Here, Joan Miró invites us into his world with L’Aveugle Parmi Les Oiseaux, a playground of symbols and forms. It's a space where the process of making seems as important as any final image. There's a black figure, the blind man, perhaps, or is it a bird? It's all fluid. Miró's marks are playful, his palette reduced to essentials – bold black shapes punctuated by spots of red, green, yellow and blue. Look at that big red circle rimmed with green, like a target or a bizarre eye. It’s a focal point, but also a kind of block, suggesting a playful frustration with vision itself. The white lines squiggle and dance across the surface, mapping out an alternative kind of seeing or feeling. Miró reminds me a little of Paul Klee, in the way he coaxes poetry out of simple shapes and colors. Ultimately, he shows us that art is about embracing ambiguity, not pinning things down.