The look of a child


Originally posted on Van Gogh and I:

Indian summer in Magog

Sometimes, in some rare and privileged moments, I can look at the world as a child. Sometimes, for a few minutes or hours (if I’m lucky) I can BE a child again. Receiving all the outside impression without any filter, without any judgement, without prejudice. The true, authentic naivity is a precious, rare thing, a thing to be preserved and cherished. Eventually, through a drawing or a painting…

Very few artists could preserve this ingenuity all their life… even the best of them, like Chagall , Utrillo or Paul Klee had their “adult” moments (Paul Klee was a rare case of a fine theoretician AND a very original, somotimes “naive” artist, having the curiosity of an infant for experimentation). Anyway, the true naivity is a rare item and quite difficult to prove. Their authenticity, the originality of an Ivan Generalic, for instance, is manifest. As it is, of course, that…

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The Bucket List


I’ve took the name from the movie, ok. But it is not about it.

Swell to be billionaire or a billionaire’s buddy (like in the movie) and be able to bucketlist whatever you want. (my creativity is amazing: I create a new verb in English: to bucketlist! :))

Imagine instead you are churchmouse poor and have, theoretically, a couple of months to live (or so the doctor says)… Less funny than in the movies, isn’t it? Still, you have a couple of months or more to live, you are still autonomous, not in great pain and you’ll like to do something meaningful with what you got.

Exactly my situation.

While binge watching tv series is a possibility (just got through a phase like that, finished the 4th season of Six Feet Under – a very suitable and sometimes morbidly funny serial) it’s not meaningful enough, not when your oncologist says to get ready and put your affairs (which affairs?!) in order…

Since drawing and painting, creating art, was my most meaningful activity – pleasant too – in the last 2 decades I suppose continuing doing that is a definite YES. Now the question would be how to do the most of that. Painting commercially it’s a possibility – and could leave something relatively valuable to my family – since I have no savings, no bonds and stocks (just a few credit card debts; my enormous – 30.000 $ ! – study debt – enormous no doubt for a lousy visual arts Certificate anyway)- was erased by a merciful Ministry of Education since I couldn’t have paid that anyway). But then it will lack significative originality and impact. It will be pleasant though to paint some more flowers (Luchian did it and did a wonderful job with it) or some nostalgic Transylvanian or Quebec landscapes.

I could also draw and paint a lot of self-portraits, documenting my days before my final agony… A bit too egotistical and too much looking toward his own belly button. Maybe a significative human experience? If I were famous already maybe it could even have some commercial value… But I’m not and probably never will be… It’s amazing how quickly we forgot even the indecently famous people, once they are dead and buried.

I could also let loose of myself/ let myself loose and draw and paint the most bizarre and scary nightmares of mine (don’t have many but still got some…), the most outrageous and morbid and crazy things my imagination could concoct. That would be fun. For me. Not for my children, wife and grandchildren…

Writing a book – a short one, evidently – also a thought that crossed my mind. I have one I began a few years – many years, in fact: must be 2003-2004? and wrote about 39-40 pages… I could begin a new one, not a work of fiction but a kind of equivalent of Ibraileanu’s aphorisms, “Witnessing Life” (Privind viata). Am I wise enough? Am I skillful enough? Only one way to know it: by trying to do it…

Of course, painting, drawing, writing is to be done in my “spare time” since my mission in life, right now and in the foreseeable future, is to assist as much as I can, my daughter and my grandsons (and occasionally my other boys and my wife and father).

Not much of a bucket list, I suppose? no spectacular voyages, no extreme feats, no exotic living. And I wonder if I had money (checked today the lottery tickets – no luck for me; I’m lucky in my love life, as usual) I would do something different. Maybe visiting my father in Romania (with his grand-grandsons and grandsons maybe), maybe some museum visiting (Amsterdam, Paris, Madrid, Vienna, Brussels, Munich…) Nothing very fancy.

But then, I’m not Jack Nicholson…neither Van Gogh…

Maybe some cutting would be more interesting? no, no, I’ll stick with the boring stuff…

And this is some work in progress, so that the post wouldn’t be imageless. It’s bad enough it’s not fancy…

Old OLt riverbed, Transylvania, near Saca

Old OLt riverbed, Transylvania, near Saca

Madness and painting… Renoir about Van Gogh, Cézanne and Jules II


Originally posted on Van Gogh and I:

Jean Renoir, the famous film director, son of the not less famous impressionist painter Renoir (Pierre-Auguste) reported a conversation he had with his father about Van Gogh, mainly… I’ll try to translate it (you cannot trust Babelfish, these days!) for you:

…” my father suggested that the death of Van Gogh was “not a very flattering event. Not even père Durand (*Ruel, the art dealer) could understand a thing!” This indifference toward such a brilliant genius was, in my father’s opinion, the condamnation of “this century of garrulous people”. I ask him what did he make of Van Gogh’s madness. His answer was that in order to paint you have to be a bit crazy. “If Van Gogh was crazy, I am too… As for Cézanne, well, he’s raving mad!…” And he added: “The Pope Jules II must have been also mad. That’s why he…

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Ecce Homo


ivdanu:

Even more significative / true now than when I’ve wrote it…I still have to actualize my self – portrait, if I will be able to muster the energy for it…

Originally posted on Van Gogh and I:

I know, it sounds a bit (or, ok, a lot) corny and pretentious… But Nietzsche did it. He wrote a book entitled just like that: Ecce Homo: How One Becomes What One Is. The year was 1888, the year Vincent arrived in Arles, a decisive step in his life and work. For Nietzsche too, it was an important work (more important still since it was the last of his works composed as a (relatively) sane man – after that there were the insanity years…)

Well, Nietzsche, before he got insane, had his Ecce Homo (for those not enclined to know Latin artsy-fartsy stuff, it doesnt’t mean “Here is the homosexual” but simply “Here is the man” – words supposedly pronounced by Pilates when presenting Jesus to the crowd; a lot of religious paintings of all ages have the same title…) I had mine one early morning, the 12th of September 2005, when I…

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All kind of plans…


ivdanu:

From the time I still had plans…

Originally posted on Van Gogh and I:

For instance, since human clients for portraits seems to be rare these days, I plan to do some superb dog portraits (knowing how much people love their pets, a good portrait should bring me tons of cash…) Here are some models I plan to paint the next days… waiting for humans (Godot included)…

I also plan to start a project with teenagers (12 to 17) teaching them to draw portraits of themselves, if the project will be approved…

But mainly, I plan to draw portraits at the Marche de la Gare, a picturesque spot in Sherbrooke with plenty of interesting people walking by (mostly on rolling skates, jogging, on bykes and parading their pure breed dogs… no cats to be seen, yet…) Plenty of couples and beautiful young girls, children and grandparents… A lot of clients of the Orford Express Train, too… Not a moment of boredom… I even took…

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I Am Too Old For This Shit


ivdanu:

I’m even more old for this shit…:)

Originally posted on Van Gogh and I:

La Bohème, la vie d’artiste, for the moment I will set that aside. As you can read in my title, I really am too old for this shit… 20 years older than Vincent at the moment of his death. I’ve tried and will still try to go on and finish what I can, I know this is just a phase and maybe, one day, if I’ll live, the nostalgia of an artist life, the urge to draw and to paint could come back with a vengeance. But for now, I will just stay (literally) on my arse 8 h per day, helping clients of Chatr to Talk Happy… It will pay the bills…

What can I do? No Mecena offered to do for me what Theo did for Vincent or Ambroise Vollard for Gauguin…

Painting, art, literature, will still be with me and I’ll even try to write a blog…

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The Jester DAnu…


ivdanu:

Still true, that one, I’m still somewhat of a jester…a clown…

Originally posted on Van Gogh and I:

Summer is a wonderful time here,  in Quebec (in other parts of the world I suppose is the same but given the long, long winter, when the summer comes, man! are we “Quebecois”  glad!)
Everybody is wearing shorts and sandals – even if sometimes the temperatures are not that warm – and if you work as a portrayer-jester (as I do, in the summertime – Remember? Janis Joplin’s “Summertime”? and Ella Fitzgerald’s?) you’ll see a lot of people jogging, walking, skating, bycicling around the Lac of Nations…
Yesterday I was trying to make a portrait or two (you can see what I did right here) and my friend Raymond and his Zoo en Folies (4 parrots) came along… and then also Stephane, the accordionist (the one who’s playing amelie poulin’s musical theme and other «Paris-Montmartre» tunes … Some tourists and some pickpockets and a hill or two (maybe a cathedral…

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