I feel the shock of the water, rise up through a thick, cold glue, then dive back with my ears ringing, my nose streaming, and the taste of salt in my mouth.
My student and I studied that, but again his copy failed, because he couldn't get just the right texture of paint--Mondrian's paint was sticky, and the bristles on his brushes were stiff.
Briefly, before gravity prevails and the viscous liquid drips down her cheeks, the dots resemble a Maori mask, but one painted in gruesome blood red, not white.