Tag Archives: Ion Vincent Danu’s Links

Farewell and the Big Sleep


Just took my 3rd morphine of the evening and I’m pretty high, I suppose. Never did that until today when, after eating a few tablespoons of magic bullet liquified “food” I was so sick that I thought I’ll die. Later on I thought I will have my second operation of hernia… Anyway, I was panicking for nothing: it was just my little, plain appendix cancer in its terminal phase…Hence, the 3rd morphine…

But not about my little bodily miseries I wanted to write. Those are not interesting. And I wonder if anything else is. When one’s approaching death, things tend to loose interest, even those you thought were your life, your bread and butter, your flesh and blood…

I remember my first close encounter with the desmise of someone close, that I loved a lot: my maternal grandfather, “Moshu”/ Romanian colloquial for an old, nice relative, as I called him. A very interesting, really, character: immigrating to Germany and then to USA (since in Germany he got in a brawl and had to take off as far as possible) at 17 years old, unemployed and champion of billiard for money, then worker in Philadelphia and Chicago steel factories, then, after saving some $$$, coming back to Transylvania to buy some good land and become a farmer and the father of a large (13 children) family. My mother was the 11 th and one of his personal favorites. Become a “jandarm” (country policeman) and then a “cantor” (professional church singer) at the Sibiu Mitropoly. HAd to give that up at the regretful order of the Mitropolit (who liked him and his superb bass voice) because he was mixing business  with holy singing, being one of the first to import a Ford T model truck and other contraptions to make money for his large family. Become a modest entrepreneur before the WW2. A Russian prisoner at 52, communists confiscated his trucks and business after he returned from Siberia. And so I knew him, also as a favorite grandson, a big man, wise and not embittered too much by the turns of his fate, liking to chat, to tell stories and to drink some. Died when I was 18, in the hot summer of 1975, from cirrhosis, at 84. And, my point, not seeming to care any more for me or anyone else he loved so much before…He had a detachment, an aloofness that was hurtful and confusing and oh, so intriguing when he approached death…I did not understood it then. I start to understand it now…

That’s why, one reason, I write this. What remains, finally, after us? And I’m referring especially at “us”, artists, painters, writers and so on? Do our paintings, drawings etc. carry a meaning? a real, important meaning? Something that was worth our work, our sufferings (even if, the joy of creation kind of compensate already the “sufferings”)?

I must think they do. I must believe a very wise and interesting writer, W. H. Auden (from the Aldoux Huxley exceptional generation), who said it the best:

“Art is our chief means of breaking bread with the dead.”

Soon enough, very probably, I’ll be dead. I certainly wish that my drawings, paintings and a few essays here and there, will find some living humans who will be willing to “break the bread” with me, through my art. My wish is for my children and grandchildren to be tempted by that first, but one never knows…

Danu, 21 June 2015

By the way, W.H. Auden is also the one that said : “A man is a form of life that dreams in order to act and acts in order to dream.” 

And, even more important and interesting and probably the best answer to my questioning:

“What answer to the meaning of existence should one require beyond the right to exercise one’s gifts?” (W.h. Auden)

I had the chance to do just that in the last 18 years or so. I can consider myself a pretty lucky bastard, can I?

The illustration is my last, yet unfinished, painting: it will be called, if I succed to finish it, “The Path” or something like that and I still have to paint a climbing silhouette of a man…

DSCN6691

Mecena Wanted


Sometimes – not often, just sometimes – I wish some Mecena pop out from somewhere (maybe from the Internet?) and says: ” I saw your work and I see some promise in it. You have raw talent and guts and the curiosity and the pleasure to explorate and play with paint. So, I give you 4000 $ per month for a year and you let me pick half of what you produce as painting & drawing during this time…”  (of course, I could guaranty at least 15 medium size paintings and 30 drawings or watercolors per months)

Here it is some of the things I am capable of painting & drawing, to convince a potential Mecena, Foundation or some crazy person with a lot of money and guts:

Self portrait as a wise man

Ok, maybe not the most alluring sample… Let’s try again…

Big Fat Birdie

Wrong again! Maybe this one?

Late Summer Afternoon: Lac des Nations, Sherbrooke

Or this one?

Orange Hair Beauty

Ok, that’s enough. If there are some Peggy Guggenheim or  Rockefeller or Charles Saatchi out there, Hello!?! (I would settle for less famous, though…) You know how to contact me…

I’m sick and tired to worry about car payments and how to buy some good watercolor paper or inks or whatever…

I hope somebody hears me. But then, I also hope to win the lottery…

Probably I will just go on as before, trying to minimize the worry, playing a lot (all the time, Bobby McFerrin’s Don’t Worry, Be Happy!) and forgetting about everything bad (such as bill or how to make ends meet) as soon as I got a pencil or a pen or a brush in my hand… Or even when I paint with my fingers… thank God for small favours!

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My images & texts do not belong to the public domain.
All images are: Copyright © Dan Iordache.
All rights reserved. Copying, altering, displaying or redistribution of any of these images without written permission by the author/artist is strictly prohibited.

Old photos, Nostalgia…


I was browsing through some  of my old photographs, some older than 30 years… 1980…1987… Oh, boy! All those memories came over me like a tornado… Not a lot left, except these scanned images…

Eyes to Die For

At the time, I was studying the art of photography with one of the best : prof. Gheorghe Lazaroiu, EFIAP, an exceptional teacher and one of the best photographers of my native town, Sibiu. It seems, looking at these images, that his teachings weren’t totally wasted on me and one can, say, I hope, that I even had (maybe still have) some talent. One thing is certain: then, just like right now, I was obsessed, mesmerized by the eyes of the people. They are, no doubt, for me, the center, the nucleus, the knack of a portrait (in photography as well as in painting/drawing). If the eyes are dead, the portrait is dead. It may sound definitive. It is…

He Has His Mother's Eyes

Happy Christmas! Happy Holidays! Don’t Worry, Be Happy!


New things enter our live almost every day. For me, recently, there is an evolution which is, at the same time, exhilarating and… well, yes, humbling…

It started with me, joining Fine Art America (at the good advice of my generous and very talented friend from Spain, Miki de Godaboom) and more recently, Redbuble.com. Two web sites for artists all over the world, where you can expose and, if you find a buyer, sell your art as a print, canvas, post card etc.

Didn’t sell much, until now… Just a photograph ! (no less! see bellow) but that’s not the point.

Mannequins in Draculas City

Selling, important, is not the main thing: getting in contact with the art of other’s, learning a trick or two, interacting with fellow artists (too many to mention all: but I have to mention Jolante Hesse from South Africa, a wonderful portrayer and not only, who dazzled me with her talent, just like Miki and so many, many others… I even met some countryman of mine, Romanians…

It’s very stimulating. It’s good. It’s wonderful. And even if I’m not an unconditional fan of James Stewart and the of the Christmas Spirit thing (most of which is, in my humble opinion, marketing and wishful thinking; of course, I have myself my not-dirty, little Christmas secret memories… the smell of fire tree, my parents and especially my mother and my grandfather voices singing Christmas carols…) I can fraternize with it. And there are so many excellent artists there, on fine Art America and on Redbubble that it’s humbling in a good sense: it gives me the stimulation, the emulation, the impulse to go further, to perfectionnate myself… I certainly hope I’ll do just that, in 2012.

And may this (hopefully ) funny Christmas Angel be a good omen for you (and me, why not) in the next year! (among my new year resolution is also to write more often here, on my blog, to record my modest evolution and discoveries…

http://ion-vincent-danu.artistwebsites.com/

http://www.redbubble.com/mybubble/

Christmas Angel

I really think, at this moment, that happiness is possible , almost in any situation. Because it is a question of perception and attitude and not one of circumstances. Just listen to Bobby McFerrin’s song (more, more profound than it sounds at first…) as I do often, and do what you are passionate about…

Drawing? Painting? Who cares?


I was always amazed (and a bit irritated) by this mania of ours to label things. Very often I was puzzled by the necessity to label paintings (or drawings?) so that they fit a box. Because, in reality, they don’t really fit. Drawing become painting and painting could become drawing, concepts are fluid and rarely, quite rarely, exact…

In fact, who cares? The art critics, the art historians, maybe… Some left brainiacs who rarely – or never – touched a pencil or a brush… I know that I don’t really care. I just draw. Or paint. Or whatever…

What is important for me, as an artist, is the process, the fluid process of doing something out of nothing, the process of creation. Ok, I said it: creation. When you paint-draw-whatever, you create. You are a mini-God, a tiny-whiny creature who does tiny “creations” (sometimes big ones, like the last Nenuphars of Monet or les Baigneuses of Cézanne, to cite some recent classics…) that, afterwards, are labeled (or not) by the art critics and art historians and, eventually, hanged up in some Museums. The places where very precisely (?) labeled things are exposed to the ecstatic admiration of the crowds of leftbraniacs. But I am labeling…

In fact, I kind of understand. You have to pin down something in order to give it reality, like you pin down an insect before you could give it a latin name…

Anyway, what is really important to me, personally, is this process of creation. Even if I don’t do it as often as I should (but then, who is to say what I should do and when?), even if I cannot figure out for good if I am a great artist or just another right brainiac with pretentions and ambitions of an “artist”…

Anyway, here is a puzzle for you: is this a painting or a drawing? For, even after writing this post (by the way I started writing this 2 half asleep…) I don’t really see the difference…

Homage to Leibnitz

Drawing again


So good to be back, so good to draw & paint again… Even if it’s for money… (in fact, even better…)

Here there are, some of my new drawing (or paintings? still confused about the distinction…):

One early morning, at my mother in law house, it was this swallow (?) singing her heart out to the moon… I tried to catch a least a faint impression of the beauty of that dawn singing…

And yesterday, still a bit rusty with my pens & brushes, some portraits for a marriage party… the happy bride & groom… a sad gentlemen…

Copyright, 2011, Dan Iordache

Crossroads, crossing people, crisscross…


I could never understand boredom. Of course, there are moments when I get antsy, when I am tired, nervous or anxious… There still are these kind of moments… but most of the time, I DO NOT get bored… There is always something interesting going on, there is always something interesting to see, to hear, to smell, to touch…

As a visual artist, especially, I cannot remember the last time I was bored. Everything around could be – IS – interesting. The more so if you are a portraitist, if people’s faces are your main interest… No lack of people, everywhere…No lack of faces & expressions…

I was browsing my old photos when I’ve felt on this one: a snapshot of a train window, a crossing of people I will never meet again, probably, at a crossroad, somewhere near Sighisoara, Romania, in the summer of 2009…

Just a quick, impulsive snapshop with my new (then) camera Fuji. Trying to catch the fleeting moment… a direct look of the teen-age girl, the amazed, wondering look of the small girl, a curious look of the boy and the tired, kind of sad expression of the father (I suppose…) You can tell a story or write a novel with this photo as a starting point…

I don’t know exactly why I associate this random photo with my epiphany, one winter late night, when I was looking from a window the twirling snow flakes outside. One moment, I was almost crazy with anguish (my then teenage daughter was at a party, and late…). Then, one moment later, looking ar the wind twirling snow flakes, I was at peace, accepting fate, accepting everything as it comes… Don’t know why, don’t know how… Just happened…

Maybe it’s this crisscross… Snowflakes, crossing each other in a randomly, apparently chaotic manner, sometimes touching each other, melting away when reaching earth… Just like us, people, crisscrossing each other in apparently chaotic, randomly lives… Touching, sometimes…

P.s. I know «crossing people» has also another meaning…but I don’t really care…I’m just an Amateurish English speaker…