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What appeals to me most about Cezanne is that in order to feel the magic of the piece, you have to slow down and really look at it. It isn't apparent with a casual or disinterested glance. It's not fast food, and it is not facile art. The strength of his painting lies in the layered strokes and colors that are so subtle, in the familiarity of what he paints, in the glorification of nature and of the form and volume of the things found within. Cezannes are an invitation for a feast of the those senses remembered, imagined, suggested. To stand before a Cezanne is to practically smell the loam, to taste a crisp apple filled with sweet juices, to hear the wind restless in the trees. The texture of his canvases, the arrangement of the strokes break the two-dimensional barrier, and almost become a vessel you can reach into for a pear, or to move a fallen leaf, or to touch his wife gently on the arm. 
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