Thom O’Connor (American, 1937)
Untitled, 1972
Lithograph on paper
19.75 x 18.75 in
Art has always had a way of pulling me in, especially pieces that speak quietly rather than demand attention. Thom O’Connor’s Untitled is one of those works. The moment I saw it, I felt drawn into its mysterious, almost haunting atmosphere. It’s not an image that immediately reveals itself, and that’s what makes it so captivating for me.
At first, the artwork looks purely abstract, a soft, glowing circle set against a dark background. It feels like looking at a distant moon, floating in the vastness of space. But as I kept staring, I started to see something more. A face, barely there, slowly emerged from the light, almost like a memory or a dream trying to take form. It’s a ghostly figure, fading in and out of focus, and that subtlety made me think about the fragility of human existence.
The lack of a title leaves so much room for interpretation, which I love. It lets me project my own thoughts and feelings onto the piece. Is this a portrait of the artist himself, or perhaps a representation of something more universal, like the fleeting nature of life? Without a title, I feel like O’Connor is inviting me to explore those questions on my own terms, and that makes the experience of viewing the artwork feel personal.
In the end, O’Connor’s Untitled reminds me that art doesn’t need to tell a clear story to be meaningful. Sometimes, it’s the things that exist in the shadows, the quiet in-between moments, that evoke the most powerful emotions. This artwork invites me to slow down, reflect, and appreciate the fleeting, fragile nature of both the image and, perhaps, life itself.
– Nike Keys ’28