I’ve been writing very little lately, especially fiction and poems. I’ve craved for something else than words.
I’ve been to various art exhibitions and filled myself with colors, textures, tecnics and sensations. It’s good to just look, not to have to talk. Only let pieces of art flow over you.
My art gallery is nowadays the most active of my blogs. I draw a lot, paint a little and sometimes I make a digital picture. I’ve splashed colors on aquarelle paper, loved every moment of it, knowing that result is nothing. Only the process means something to me.
While painting, I’ve met some artists. First there was Picasso. He was surely flirting with me or maybe the target of his glare was the naked woman running around the studio. Don’t know, but he certainly was in a funny mood.
Next I met Andy Warhol. He wanted to make a study of me. I said yes, but didn’t think much of the result. Seen that before. We had some tomato soup, talked about the weather. It was quite nice.
Jackson Pollock’s studio was a colorful mess, and after being there for some time, I was covered with red, blue, black and violet dots. First I thought I’ve got measles, but Jackson assured me that all that is seen is only art. That set my mind at rest, and we continued to sprinkle rainbows on the walls.
Today I had the honour to look at Modigliani in the heat of work. He had a sore throat, so he could only whisper some words. My hearing is not as good as it used to be, so I can’t repeat his words. Didn’t hear a thing. But he smiled nicely and I felt at ease with him.
It’s a miracle to be able to imagine, don’t you think so, too?
(All these drawings have been displayed also at SusuPetal art gallery.)