The monk in this fragment of painting – a triptic I did as my final project when I was studying at the University of Sherbrooke, to obtain my Certificat en arts visuels – is the portrait of a wandering monk from my native country, Romania… A monk who was a bit “mentally handicaped” (in the politically correct formula, so full of shaite! ) (That was a presumably Scotish pronounciation for a very well known “s” word) A monk who earn the little food or clothes he needed by decently begging for it or doing small easy odd jobs. People respected him as almost a saint for how many of us would have had the courage to rely on our fellow humans generosity to live? He slept probably in a small “schit” (a very small monastery) and came every Sunday for the religious service at the Saliste church around which he gravitated… I took a photo of him there, in the 90 ties and used that photo to make this portrait…
For me, he was a hero, a true believer. A bit like the buddhist wandering monks… An acceptance of the world as it is. A confidence that He Who Is In Heaven will take care of him also (as He does for the little sparrows…) A humility full of dignity, something which was true and real. Not the humility of the Tartuffe-like television preachers… I even felt that maybe, someday, when I will muster the courage, I could have his attitude: accept everything, ask for very little, believe in something greater than myself… Maybe some of the old masters, like Pieter Bruegel or Rembrandt, had that, in the painting field, at the end of their lives…
Van Gogh and I 