An unknown voice in my head started talking to me when I was trying to understand and capture the colour of the sea. Why would you paint something when you can take a picture of it? A thing I share with some digital artists.
I will respond once more to the barbarians who believe that art is too much navel-string orientated. The idea that art should benefit to society somehow often comes down to the ultimate wish of everything remaining the same, like clinging to the past. Otherwise art would soon become a form of decadence, read blameworthy luxury.
Well, talent is also the flexibility to respond to what suddenly emerges. (The tone is set. Although I don’t like to explain my work. But isn’t giving a title to artwork the same?)
My world is a source of pleasure and total bewilderment. I’m trying not to take sides. (There you go.)
What do I want? Practice. Because standing still is a cliché. Running in circles is out of the question. You learn from your mistakes, not from success. As an artist you can make two fatal mistakes: identifying yourself with success or identifying yourself with the lack of it.
Regarding the audience
It seems that almost everyone is locked up in their head, resulting in an enormous silence. It reminds me of what you often see with psychiatric patients: an obsessive repetition of thought and behavioural patterns.
On the other hand I consider the idea of a new emerging human species having to produce a new kind of art very presumptuous.
Are we not all just mice trotting along the path of faith?
And yet I love the sweet and sour taste of the search for a new style. Pushing further and coming back if I find something new. Without fear.
Are we not all prisoners of our symbols that we consider universal?
A lot of shapes are merely illusions, wrong impressions. A combination of expressive, figurative and abstract – soaked with symbolism. Nobody sees the same. In this sense, a form is a rationalized impression.
Do you really have to be somewhere to know what’s going on?
I was present at my birth but I can’t remember much about it. It also strikes me that most reflections are dated.
The rhythm of painting
I often drown while painting, which is almost a physical sensation.
Without fear, without hesitation. Because fear paralyzes, because fear perpetuates. No waiting, yet fighting the nonsense armed with paint.
Painting subconsciously, and the self-conscious becomes the editor.
Today. Because tomorrow there will be new voices dominating my brain.
More questions than answers
What do I want? And am I the only one? What do you expect? (Without any shame.) What do I feel?
Ask me again next year. You need to give these things time. So time can tell.
Do I qualify? Are you staying or leaving? What shall we do?
(Fortunately, art critics are not natural scientists; they would probably not study gravity but regret it.)
Painting remains an existential need. With or without it, I remain very clumsy in this world.
To create is to start over. Again and again. So I guess I will see you later? With or without any news.
(inspired by Islander)