Metropolis

 

I’m not absolutely sure that Bucharest, with his 4 million people, qualifies for a “metropolis”… for me it was that… A big city, hysterically agitated, cruel, tense, inhuman, full of sound and fury… I never had a chance to know it better, to see also its “good” sides… I had some relatives and some friends, over the years, in Bucharest, Romania’s capital, but never yet had the time, the patience, the chance to know it otherwise. I was a stranger there. Afraid to be robbed. Prone to be a victim of all those big city slicks, of all the gypsies and notoriously (for the provincial sucker I felt I was) dishonest taxi drivers and stuff…

Since I’ve bragged I was a photographer (well, still am, not dead yet…) I will show you this time a photo I took when I was no more than a young adult (he-he-he, many years ago…) . It was taken with a very primitive camera, well know at the time in a URSS allied country like Romania, a “Smena’. Almost the equivalent of a disposable camera in US, not very complicated but with a good, sharp objective. The films weren’t much better, in those days of communist Romania: if you got an east-German made Orwo film you had top quality…

The place: before the “Patria” cinema, somewhere on one of the main boulevards of Bucharest. People were circulating upstream and downstream without even looking. For me, young provincial, it was shocking this big city indifference of the people. I was naive, of course. What could have you done? Call the Ambulance? The lying man was a victim of some robbery or simply a drunkard? Was he dead or still breathing? What should I do? Eventually, I took a picture. I’m not proud of the way I solved the dilemma… But them, it wasn’t my town. I had no friends there. I was myself, almost as the man laying there, a stranger in a strange land…

The Little Redhood

I was a lot of things in my life. Photographer was one of them. Here is a photo I took one or two years before immigrating with my whole family to Canada. Of course, the litlle redhood is my daughter and the place is an orchard near my native town of Sibiu, Transylvania. A place called Cisnadioara where there is, not far away, on a high hill, a very old castle, well preserved. A place where somebody smart (and rich) could shoot a movie with Dracula, for instance… A small village where it should be good to live (eventually to paint) if the rich people from Sibiu wouldn’t have already bought most of the houses and lands…

Getting drunk, as a solution…

“Life is cruel” – “life is real” – isn’t it what they say in some classic songs?

Well, just because Supertramp or Freddie Mercury said it in a song it doesn’t make it untrue automatically… But I would say that, in my humble experience, life is cruel only because it’s indifferent. Why is “real”, well, I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Freddie about that (yes, I know he’s dead…) Anyhow…being in what the French call “une disposition massacrante” I need (and badly!) some (auto) encouragement… All I could find was a famous (?) text by Charles Baudelaire. (I’m too damn nervous and angry to translate it so I hope you know French; sorry!)

“Enivrez-vous

Il faut être toujours ivre. Tout est là: c’est l’unique question. Pour ne pas sentir l’horrible fardeau du Temps qui brise vos épaules et vous penche vers la terre, il faut vous enivrer sans trêve. Mais de quoi? (Good question!) De vin, de poesie ou de vertu, à votre guise. Mais enivrez-vous.

Et si quelquesfois, sur les marches d’un palais, sur l’herbe verte d’un fossé, dans la solitude morne de votre chambre, vous vous reveillez, l’ivresse déjà diminuée, ou disparue, demandez au vent, à la vague, à l’étoile, à l’oiseau, à l’horloge, à tout ce qui fuit, à tout ce qui gémit, à tout ce qui roule, à tout ce qui chante, à tout ce qui parle, demandez quelle heure il est; et le vent, la vague, l’étoile, l’oiseau, l’horloge vous répondront: “Il est l’heure de s’enivrer! Pour n’être pas les esclaves martirisés du Temps, enivrez-vous sans cesse! (OK) De vin, de poesie ou de vertu, à votre guise.”

Charles Baudelaire, “Sa vie, son oeuvre”, p. 407, Bibliothèque Fixot, Paris, 1992.

Since I have no wine, some poetry (see above) and very little virtue (I don’t brag about it, anyway), I have to get drunk with what I have: ink and colors, pens and brushes, or, in other words, drawing and painting. I add a sample.

Excerpts cocktail…

The fate manifest itself often by chance. Or maybe chance, hasard IS fate? I don’t really know (and I don’t insist; it gets me misty, to cite Mel Gibson in Payback…) and now that I cited Mel Gibson, I will offer you a feast, intelectual feast… here are some famous and less famous citations from Nietzsche (he’s getting often in my way, I don’t know why?) and John Steinbeck (a writer I admire and enjoy). To accompany the word feast I’ve chosen a semi-abstract painting I did back in 2003-2004 I hope you’ll like both…

” It isn’t true that there’s a community of light, a bonfire of the world. Everyone carries his own, his lonely own.”
p. 281, John Steinbeck, The Winter of our discontent

“Voilà un artiste comme je les aime:modeste dans ses besoins. Il ne demande, au fond, que deux choses, son pain et son art…Panem et circen…”
p. 12, Nietzsche, Crépuscule des idoles

“Appris à l’École de Guerre de la vie:ce qui ne me tue pas me fortie.”
p.12, Nietzsche, Crépuscule des idoles

“What a frightening thing is the human, a mass of gauges and dials and registers, and we can read only a few and those perhaps not accurately.”
p. 82, John Steinbeck, The Winter of our discontent

“The things we couldn’t explain went right on but surely not with our blessing. We did not see what we couldn’t explain, and meanwhile a great part of the world was abandoned to children, insane people, fools, and mystics, who were more interested in what is than in why is it. So many old and lovely things are stored in the world’s attic, because we don’t want them around us and we don’t dare throw them out.”
John Steinbeck, The Winter of our discontent

“Je me méfie de tous faiseurs de systèmes et m’écarte de leur chemin. L’esprit de système est un manque de probité.” p. 15, Nietzsche, Crépuscule des idoles.

Mixing techniques

I’ve always like to try new things… to mix techniques and try new drawing instruments (for instance, the dry reed is an excellent one, used by Rembrandt, Bruegel and Van Gogh). Practically, with acrylics, and acrylic mediums and pastas you can use almost anything to shape your painting: a comb,  all kind of plastic dinner forks and knifes, knitting needles, your hands and nails, the other side of the brush (the handle) etc. etc. Only your imagination puts a limit to this… The excellent adherence of the acrylic paint – inks included – makes very interesting the combination acrylic base + pastel (oil pastel is preferable because of its better adherence and simplicity – no need to apply a fixer…) This is one of my first experiments in mixing acrylics, watercolor and pastel. Not a masterpiece but it can give you an idea of what I’m talking about… And it will make a contrast with some sad, melodramatic postings I did lately…

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Mi-a placut intotdeauna sa experimentez. Sa incerc noi tehnici picturale, noi materiale, noi instrumente de desin…de ex., trestia taiata pe care atat Rembrandt cat si Bruegel si Van Gogh au folosit-o…Practic, odata cu culorile de tip acrilic (inclusiv tusurile, ca si nenumaratele varietatzi de paste si mediumuri acrilice) campul de experiementare a devenit practic nelimitat (doar limitele propriei imaginatzii constinuie “limita”…) Datorita excelentei lor aderentze si a faptului ca potzi modela tabloul tau cu practic aproape orice instrument, de la piepteni la ace de crosetat, etc. o baza ade acrilice poate fi foarte usor si bine “desenata” cu pasteluri (personal le prefer pe cele de ulei – in cazul acesta – fiindca adera mai bine si nu trebuie fixate, ca cel seci…)

Nudul prezent e una din primele mele incercari de “tehnica mixta” . Nu e o capodopera, dar va putetzi face o idee despre ce inseamna “tehnica mixta” acrilice-pastel, cu ceva acuarele in plus…Si face un contrast interesant fatza de unele postari triste si melodramatice pe care le-am facut recent…

Essential loneliness / Singuratate fundamentala

I’ve chosen this drawing to illustrate this title. It’s a couple, they probably make love – or have sex – together. But they are essentialy alone. Same as we are… each and everyone…

There will be a lot to say: no, I’m not alone, I have a wife, a lover, children, parents, friends, etc.

The truth is – and it’s sad, very sad (as I am tonight) that we are, finally, alone. No lover, no wife, no children, no friend (and I value friendship a lot) can fill in the emptyness, the essential loneliness we feel sometimes. Happly, it doesn’t happen often. A few minutes, maybe, in a lifetime. If you are moderately smart, you’ll recognise it. If not it will be only a very unpleasent feeling, a strangeness, something you will put aside as quick as you can, trying to forget about it… If not, you will be prone to cleaning rifles accidents, like Hemingway and his father…

Why do we feel it? I don’t know. It could be a negligent word from some of your dear ones, a mean remarks of a person you thought (how stupid can one be?) was a friend, the fact that your child doesn’t have 2 minutes to ask how are you? Or a stranger’s mean look, with no reason that you know (maybe he or she doesn’t like your mug, as simply as that?)

Very few of us will wish to analyse too much this odd, unpleasent, sickening feeling. Neither do I.

But then, maybe I am disturbed?

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Am ales desenul acesta al unui cuplu pentru a ilustra titlu de mai sus. Probabil ca cei doi fac dragoste – sau au sex – impreuna dar, in mod esentail, ei sunt singuri. La fel ca fiecare dintre noi. Fara exceptzie.

Vor fi multzi care sa spuna: nu, eu nu sunt singur, am o nevasta, o iubita, copii, parintzi, prieteni, etc. Se poate. Dar adevarul este – si e trist, foarte trist (asa cum sunt eu in seara asta) – ca fiecare suntem, pana la urma, singuri. Nici o iubita, nici o nevasta, nici copiii si nici prietenii (si eu am o idee foarte inalta despre prietenie) pot sa umple golul acele, singuratatea noastra fundamentala pe care o simtzim uneori. din fericire, nu se intampla prea des. cateva minute, poate, intr-o viataza de om. Daca esti destul de destept, vei recunoaste momentul, cand se intampla. Daca nu, va ramana doar ca o senzatzie neplacuta, ca un sentiment bizar, ca ceva ciudat, ceva de care te grabesti sa scapi cat mai repede si incerci sa uitzi… Daca intarzii prea mult s-ar putea sa ai accidente de curatzat pusca, ca Hemingway si tatal sau…

De ce se intampla? Habar n-am de ce. Poate sa fie un cuvant aruncat neglijent de catre cineva iubit. Sau o remarca rautacioasa din partea cuiva pe care (oare cat de prost potzi fi?) l-ai crezut prieten, sau faptul ca copilul tau nu are 2 minute ca sa te intrebe de sanatate… Sau, pur si simplu, o uitatura urata de la un strain sau straina (de ce? cum ai putea stii? poate ca nu le place moaca ta?)

Foarte putzini dintre noi vor vrea sa analizeze pe indelete acest sentiment, bizar, neplacut, care-tzi provoaca greatza. Nici eu nu vreau.

Dar, cine stie? poate ca sunt deranjat?

Disturbing stuff in yellow & orange…

This is for my friend Alfred Faltiska (but not exclusively…)

At my post “Cruelty” he made a comment and it seem that he believes dark, angry, disturbing stuff cannot be made with sunny colors like yellow or  pink… I won’t cite him some Vincent paintings I know – in bright, powerful colors – and which are profoundly disturbing. I’ll just post one of ime – Van Gogh don’t need any publicity any more, eh?

I wouldn’t put any limitation on the colors or techniques able to convey disturbing stuf… You can do angry, dark (metaphorically dark…), disturbing, weird, wild stuff with almost all colors, in almost any technique.

This is just a study of the “Adam” figure for a large composition I plan to paint in an unforseen future…if I will gain the lottery or find a Mecena…

One minute drawing

Rapid sketching could be very revealing for an artist, for his “talent”… Bruegel, Rembrandt, Rubens, Delacroix, as well as modern painters like Manet, Degas, Renoir, Pissarro, Van Gogh, Cézanne, Modigliani, Picasso, all did rapid sketches, catching in a blink and in a few fewerishly lines, the essence of a movement or of a move…

Only this enumeration of great names an make me humble. But not that humble… after all, right now, I’m about in the same stage as Vincent Van Gogh coming to Paris: unknown, with still a lot to learn but, however, with some years of hard work and even some good drawings and paintings in my portfolio… I have nothing to lose, except, maybe, the sympathy of some friends who thought I’m modest (which I am and which I am NOT, I cannot really explain…)

So, rapid sketching… There is a “fashion” of the “ateliers d’après modèle vivant” : I don’t know why, exactly, but all do conform to this (in my opinion) stupid rule of the “warming up” poses… the model is tortured for 5-7 minutes in all sort of difficult, artificial postures in the so called “worming up one minute pose”… Rarely, very rarely did I succeed anything else than to waste the paper… I would warm up a lot easier and more gradually doing a 10 minutes pose… But if this is the fashion…well, you have to conform…

This one minute drawing is one of the rare one…one in which I succeeded, I think, to catch “something”… I hope you’ll like it. And when I will gain the lottery I will organize free nude sessions in which the models will pose in natural postures for 10-15 minutes. No fashion. Just beautiful women posing in natural, simple postures…

Funny looking Nietzsche – creators paradox

I found this funny looking photo of Nietzsche, with a drawn sword and the “patriotic” look of a “prussian” officer (plus a moustache that would have look good on one of the Marx brothers – of course, I’m not talking about Karl…) And I’ve read about him, enlisting as a “voluntary” in the French-Prussian war of 1870-71… Of course, I know about his “living dangerously” stuff and about some of his aphorism recommanding war as an interesting and revigorating experience…

Anyway, my point is than often, even VERY often, we are puzzled by the aspect, the behavior and some of the ideas of people considered, by general acceptation, as geniuses… Dali, for instance, cultivated with an equal genius his paradoxes, his weirdness… He sympatized with the Spanish fascists, he went bathing in the nude with his wife Gala (of course, equally nude) in the Atlantic ocean (not without letting know the international press about the exact date and place and hour…)

Toulouse-Lautrec, with his dwarf-like aspect and many excentricities, is another example. And even the most uncultivated and not-art-oriented persons have heard about Vincent Van Gogh’s ear cutting… Maybe, in geniuses, the paradoxes (quite usual, in some mesure, in ordinary people) are brought to paroxism? The Yang-Yin thing being much more accentuated, more powerfully revealed? Not an uninteresting theme, I think…