El Greco

Mathieu Laca, El Greco, oil an traditional pigments on linen /
huile et pigments traditionnels sur lin, oak frame with carved onlays gilded with silver leaf /
cadre en chêne avec appliques sculptées dorées à la feuille d'argent, 89cmX69cm, 2011

I had a hard time finding how Domenikos Theotokopoulos (a.k.a. El Greco) looked like. Yes, I found a few of his self-portraits here and there, but none conveyed well the full power of that most singular genius. The reason is simple. El Greco’s personality can only be encompassed through the entirety of his works. Each of his figures is a self-portrait. So, in painting his portrait, I focused less on depicting his specific physical features than on expressing the very peculiar mood of his imagination. That explains the swirling clouds, the ruff and the goatee so typical of his work. I also referred to the influence of icon painting on this Crete-born master by slightly tilting his head for a more stylized posture.

J’ai eu du mal à trouver de quoi Domenikos Theotokopoulos (alias El Greco) avait l’air. Il existe bien quelques-uns de ses autoportraits, mais aucun ne traduit assez la puissance de ce génie des plus singuliers, je trouve. La raison en est simple. La personnalité du Greco peut seulement être appréhendée à travers l’ensemble de ses œuvres. Chacun de ses personnages est un autoportrait. C’est pourquoi, en peignant son portrait, je me suis moins concentré sur le rendu de ses caractéristiques physiques individuelles que sur l’expression de la couleur particulière de son imagination. Ce qui explique les nuées tourbillonnantes, la fraise et la barbe en pointe si typique de ses tableaux. J’ai aussi fait référence à l’influence sur ce maître crétois de la peinture d’icône en inclinant sa tête légèrement pour une posture plus stylisée.



Below is a detail of the frame. Just as the painting, the framing also refers to tradition. It quotes traditional woodcarving patterns with silver onlays at the bottom left of the otherwise very modern oak shadow box.

Ci-dessous, un détail du cadre. Comme la peinture, l'encadrement fait écho à la tradition. Il cite des motifs traditionnels de la sculpture décorative par l'ajout d'appliques argent en bas à gauche du pourtant très moderne encadrement à gorge en chêne.

My portrait was painted using only pigments that were available to the Greco in his time. Below is how a few of those pigments are distributed in my work. Click here to read more on my research about traditional pigments.

Mon portrait a été peint en utilisant seulement des pigments qui étaient disponibles au Greco à son époque. Ci-dessous, vous trouverez la répartition de quelques-uns de ces pigments. Cliquez ici pour plus de détails sur ma recherche à propos des pigments traditionnels (texte en anglais).

El Greco, The Burial of the Count of Orgaz / L'enterrement du comte d'Orgaz, 1588

Caravaggio

Mathieu Laca, Caravaggio, oil and traditional pigments on linen /
huile et pigments traditionnels sur lin, 77cm X 62cm, 2011

I have read “La course à l’abîme”, a highly documented fiction Dominique Fernandez wrote on Caravaggio’s life. This literary portrait casts light on the eroticism and the cruelty that were so intrinsically connected to his work. In it, his love for young thieves and his taste for battle (afterall, he was excommunicated by the Pope for killing a man) are brilliantly linked to details of his paintings.

Having painted a lot of works with explicit sexual content, I can only but relate to that provocative and impetuous artist who has violently shaken the foundations of western art.

***

J’ai lu «La course à l’abîme», une fiction hautement documentée de Dominique Fernandez sur la vie du Caravage. Ce portrait littéraire jette une lumière sur la cruauté et l’érotisme si intrinsèquement liés à son œuvre. Son amour pour les jeunes voyous et son goût pour la bagarre (après tout, il a été excommunié par le Pape pour avoir tué un homme) y sont brillamment reliés à des détails de ses tableaux.

Ayant peint beaucoup de toiles au contenu sexuel explicite, je ne peux que m’identifier à cet artiste provocant et impétueux qui a violemment secoué les fondations de l’art occidental.

***

My portrait was painted using only pigments that were available to Caravaggio in his time. Below is how a few of those pigments are distributed in my work. Click here to read more on my research about traditional pigments.

Mon portrait a été peint en utilisant seulement des pigments qui étaient disponibles au Caravage à son époque. Ci-dessous, vous trouverez la répartition de quelques-uns de ces pigments. Cliquez ici pour plus de détails sur ma recherche à propos des pigments traditionnels (texte en anglais).

Caravaggio, Love Conquers All / L'Amour vainqueur, 1602

Goya

Mathieu Laca, Francesco Goya, oil and traditional pigments on linen /

huile et pigments traditionnels sur lin, oak frame with carved gold leaf onlays and bitumen of Judea /
cadre en chêne avec appliques sculptées dorées à la feuille et bitume de Judée, 86cm X 70cm, 2011

The sleep of reason produces monsters. That title of one of Goya’s famous etchings kept bouncing in my head while I was painting his portrait. How could I depict this surly old man, marked by all the barbarism he had witnessed? Suddenly, a ray of darkness went though my mind and cracked his skull on the canvas. His reason was failing. A door was opening for all the monsters of the night to take shape.


Le sommeil de la raison engendre des montres. Ce titre d’une des célèbres gravures de Goya me revenait constamment en tête alors que je peignais son portrait. Comment pouvais-je dépeindre ce vieil homme bourru, marqué par toute la barbarie dont il a été témoin? Soudain, un rayon de ténèbres me traversa l’esprit et lui fendit le crâne sur la toile. Sa raison s’ébréchait. Une porte s’ouvrait, frayant un chemin aux monstres de la nuit.

***

Below is a detail of the frame. Just as the painting, the framing also refers to tradition. It quotes traditional woodcarving patterns with gold leaf onlays at the right corner of the otherwise very modern oak shadow box.

Ci-dessous, un détail du cadre. Comme la peinture, l'encadrement fait écho à la tradition. Il cite des motifs traditionnels de la sculpture décorative par l'ajout d'appliques dorées à la feuille dans le coin droit du pourtant très moderne encadrement à gorge en chêne.

My portrait was painted using only pigments that were available to Goya in his time. Below is how a few of those pigments are distributed in my work. Click here to read more on my research about traditional pigments.

Mon portrait a été peint en utilisant seulement des pigments qui étaient disponibles pour Goya à son époque. Ci-dessous, vous trouverez la répartition de quelques-uns de ces pigments. Cliquez ici pour plus de détails sur ma recherche à propos des pigments traditionnels (texte en anglais).

Francesco Goya, The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters /
Le Sommeil de la raison engendre des monstres, 1797

Rembrandt

Mathieu Laca, Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn, oil and traditional pigments on linen /

huile et pigments traditionnels sur lin, oak frame with carved gold leaf onlay /

cadre en chêne avec applique sculptée dorée à la feuille, 77cm X 62cm,
2011, Private Collection / Collection privée

I felt that, in the Rembrandt portrait, I did not really paint Rembrandt. I painted his gaze looking at me from over the passage of time. His gaze is the true center of the work. Yet, it is the only thing that appears to be blank on the canvas. Elusive. Unpainted.

I wished to experience what Rembrandt called Sprezzatura, which means an apparent carelessness in the handling of the paint and which I find absolutely sublime.


J’ai l'impression que, dans le portrait de Rembrandt, je n’ai pas vraiment peint Rembrandt. J’ai plutôt peint son regard dirigé vers moi par-delà le temps. Son regard est le véritable centre de l’œuvre. Malgré cela, c’est la seule chose qui semble absente du tableau. Non peinte.

Insaisissable. J'ai voulu faire l'expérience de ce que Rembrandt appellait Sprezzatura et qui veut dire une sorte de nonchalance apparente dans le maniement du pinceau et que je trouve absolument sublime.

***

Below is a detail of the frame. Just as the painting, the framing also refers to tradition. It quotes traditional woodcarving patterns with a gold leaf onlay at the bottom of the otherwise very modern oak shadow box.

Ci-dessous, un détail du cadre. Comme la peinture, l'encadrement fait écho à la tradition. Il cite des motifs traditionnels de la sculpture décorative par l'ajout d'une applique dorée à la feuille au bas du pourtant très moderne encadrement à gorge en chêne.

My portrait was painted using only pigments that were available to Rembrandt in his time. Below is how a few of those pigments are distributed in my work. Click here to read more on my research about traditional pigments.

Mon portrait a été peint en utilisant seulement des pigments qui étaient disponibles pour Rembrandt à son époque. Ci-dessous, vous trouverez la répartition de quelques-uns de ces pigments. Cliquez ici pour plus de détails sur ma recherche à propos des pigments traditionnels (texte en anglais).

Harmensz Rembrandt van Rijn, Self-portrait as Democritus (detail) /
Autoportrait en Démocrite (détail), 1668

Rubens

Mathieu Laca, Pierre-Paul Rubens, oil and traditional pigments on linen /
huile et pigments traditionnels sur lin, 77cm X 62cm, 2012, 1800$

Rubens was a painter of the flesh. Lucian Freud and Jenny Saville are in direct line with him. He loved to paint the big rolls of flesh in fat bodies. I always found that there was nostalgia in the tremendous load of imagery and movement in his works. Nostalgia of pleasures that past, as if he wanted to revive those pleasures through painting. I wanted to express that nostalgia of consumed delights by portraying Rubens against a flesh-tone sunset and making him gazing back at us, like an old accomplice.

Rubens était un peintre de la chair. Lucian Freud et Jenny Saville sont en ligne directe avec lui. Il adorait peindre les gros bourrelets de corps très gras. J’ai toujours trouvé qu’il y avait une forme de nostalgie dans cette incroyable surcharge d’imagerie et de mouvement qu’on retrouve dans ses œuvres. Nostalgie de plaisirs passés, comme s’il voulait raviver ces plaisirs par la peinture. J’ai voulu exprimer cette nostalgie particulière de joies déchues en faisant le portrait de Rubens contre un crépuscule aux tons de chair et en faisant en sorte qu’il se retourne vers nous, pour nous regarder tel un vieux complice.

***

My portrait was painted using only pigments that were available to Rubens in his time. Below is how a few of those pigments are distributed in my work. Click here to read more on my research about traditional pigments.

Mon portrait a été peint en utilisant seulement des pigments qui étaient disponibles pour Rubens à son époque. Ci-dessous, vous trouverez la répartition de quelques-uns de ces pigments. Cliquez ici pour plus de détails sur ma recherche à propos des pigments traditionnels (texte en anglais).

Rubens, Bacchus, 1640

Rubens, The Hippo Hunt / La chasse à l'hippopotame, 1640

Killing Velasquez

Mathieu Laca, Diego Velázquez, oil and traditional pigments on linen /

huile et pigments traditionnels sur lin, 77cm X 62cm, 2012, 1800$

Why all this fuss about Velasquez, a painter who seemed to be more concerned about obtaining the king’s favors than anything else? After all, he was a courtier, architect, decorator and administrator! Why? Why almost every painter secretly dreams about killing Velasquez with his own hands? His subjects have nothing special. He painted the Spanish court, a few midgets, a few Jesuses here and there, that’s all. So, why? The reason is, and that is why Velasquez became the “painter of painters”, he didn’t seem to care. He has an ease, a freshness that makes every other painting look overworked by comparison. It’s as if his works had been painted in a few minutes. Nothing polished. Just life caught at a precise moment in time and seized by the brush. No pathos, no ornament, no explicit message. Nothing personal was added. Velasquez erases himself from his paintings. He steps aside. He is both present and missing, like the king in Las Meninas. He lets the work live its own life. That’s how he has been teaching lessons to painters for hundreds of years.


Pourquoi tout ce tapage à propos de Vélasquez, un peintre qui avait plus l’air de se soucier d’obtenir des faveurs du roi qu’autre chose? Après tout, il était bien courtisan, architecte, décorateur et administrateur! Pourquoi? Pourquoi tous les peintres rêvent-ils secrètement de tuer Vélasquez de leurs propres mains? Ses sujets n’ont rien de très spécial. Il a peint les gens de la cour d’Espagne, quelques nains, quelques Jésus ici et là, c’est tout. Alors, pourquoi? La raison en est, et c’est ce qui fait de Vélasquez le « peintre des peintres », qu’il avait vraiment l’air de s’en foutre. Il a une aisance, une fraîcheur qui rend toutes les autres toiles « sur-travaillées » par comparaison. C’est comme si ses œuvres avaient été peintes en quelques minutes. Rien de poli. Seulement, la vie capturée à un moment précis et saisie par le pinceau. Aucun pathos, aucun ornement, aucun message explicite non plus. Rien de personnel n’a été ajouté. Vélasquez s’est comme effacé de ses peintures. Il se tient en retrait, à la fois présent et absent, tel le roi dans Les Ménines. Il laisse l’œuvre vivre sa propre vie. C’est de cette manière qu’il a donné des leçons aux peintres pendant des siècles.

***

My portrait was painted using only pigments that were available to Velasquez in his time. Below is how a few of those pigments are distributed in my work. Click here to read more on my research about traditional pigments.


Mon portrait a été peint en utilisant seulement des pigments qui étaient disponibles pour Vélasquez à son époque. Ci-dessous, vous trouverez la répartition de quelques-uns de ces pigments. Cliquez ici pour plus de détails sur ma recherche à propos des pigments traditionnels (texte en anglais).

Diego Velasquez, Las Meninas (Les Ménines), 1657
Below is a detail showing the brushwork. /
Ci-dessous, un détail montrant le travail du pinceau.

My Hall of Fame

Mathieu Laca, Mrs. X, 2010

Fame! What a strange concept! I sincerely believe that I never met an artist who didn’t secretly desire fame and fortune; quite normal when you think that the vast majority of artists are not sure they’ll have something to eat tomorrow. Warhol believed that everybody is supposed to be famous for fifteen minutes in his life; but, that’s not the type of cheap short-lasting fame we’re all dreaming of, artist or not. At the same time, it is rather common to meet artists that seem to be ashamed to even pronounce that four-letter-word. If fame inevitably brings fortune, like most people believe, can I remain the same authentic and incorruptible Me with all that cash flowing out of my pockets and all those paparazzi peeping through the keyhole of my bathroom? Will I grow long and curled whiskers with flies on the tips? Or will I get fat and bald and start wearing funny looking Gaultier-like striped tee shirts and baggy shorts? For most of us, fame is attractive and scary at the same time. Odd, isn’t it?

Like everybody else, I have my own Hall of Fame. I have my own collection of people I admire, those models I envy, and I sometimes wonder how they became famous.

In a recent post on this blog, I wrote about Jean Cocteau. This poet, novelist, visual artist, playwright and filmmaker stands at the top of my list. With thousands of poems, five novels, more than twenty plays, a few dozen essays, ten films, five scenarios, four dialogues for films, tons of drawings, ceramics and frescos, countless hours of recordings, speeches and public performances, I believe he deserves all my respect. I often wondered if the man ever ate and slept!

Very high on the same list stands Pier Paolo Pasolini. He wrote more or less fifty books. Two dozen films. Recordings, speeches, public performances and interviews. Did he ever eat and sleep?

Hold on! Stand by! Here it comes! I just love Hildegard Knef! She’s the one who sings the so beautiful "Für mich soll's rote Rosen regnen". 54 films! On my iTunes list, I have 356 of her songs, some with the fresh and clear voice of a young singer, some with the slightly out-of-tune tired older woman, still the same sensuous and appealing flashy artist. Her life was not an easy one, believe me; that's why she called her autobiography Der geschenkte Gaul - Bericht aus einem Leben (The Gift Horse - Report of a Life). But she never stopped creating. Time to eat and sleep?

I could go on like that for pages because my Hall of Fame is very long. There are so many great artists worth being admired. But every time I think about one of them, I always end up asking: “But, what about eating and sleeping? They gave so much! They loved so much!”

So, maybe that’s what fame is all about: giving and loving. Maybe Fame and Fortune don’t necessarily go together. Maybe it’s true that anybody can have, not only fifteen minutes of fame, but a whole lifetime at the Pantheon as long as he accepts a life made of nothing else but love and generosity. Quite an agenda!

That’s why I have such a faith in my beloved husband’s future. His entire life is made of nothing else but work, love and generosity.

The only thing I must be very aware of is that he never forgets to eat and to sleep. Quite a job, believe me!

Comeau

The Privileges of Beauty

Mathieu Laca, Awakening, 2009

When I started to be genuinely interested in art, the first great artist that haunted my days and nights was the unrivaled poet, Jean Cocteau. The fascination that became a real passion over the years never faded. Of course, I was very proud that our names were alike; I saw that detail that might sound pretty trivial to everybody else as some kind of a sign; a sign of what, I didn’t exactly know, but that sign made me happy and that was enough.

So I started to read everything he wrote, at least everything I could find. Later, I started to discover his drawings, his paintings, his sculptures and his films and finally, I read every biography of him I could find. Nowadays,  I can’t read or look at one of his works without being intensely moved. “It is one of the privileges of the poet to be able to resurrect, at any moment and in any circumstances, the fabulous creatures that lurk in our collective unconscious, without anyone being astonished at his taking such a risk,” wrote Annie Guédras in her book Jean Cocteau, Erotic drawings.

I must confess that, for one, seeing those “fabulous creatures that lurk in our collective unconscious” being “resurrected” is a need I wouldn’t be able to live without. I must live surrounded by fauns and elves, among fairies and gargoyles; I can’t resist enacting my life with angels and devils, and I know very few human beings as fascinating as the least of all chimeras. I love when that life of mine is nothing less than a wild dream.“The privileges of beauty are enormous. Its power is felt even by those who seem to care the least about it.” (Jean Cocteau, Le Livre blanc)

As far as I am concerned, great artists don’t create beauty; just like Jean Cocteau, great artists ARE beauty for they are a living source that gives birth to all those creatures that make our lives bearable if not permanently happy.

I envy artists. I am always wondering what their life might be. I guess I’ll never know. But, sincerely, I don’t really care. I have that immense privilege of living the second best life after being an artist. I live with an artist. Every night I go to bed, and every day I wake up, I thank whoever might be responsible for that blessing I didn’t even have to ask for. This is the kind of blessing that makes your life a dream and allows you to go through years without ever fearing death because you know you’ll eternally be part of “your” artist’s everlasting fairy tale.

(P.S. Yesterday, I celebrated my seventh wedding anniversary with “my” artist)

Comeau

The Never-Ending Show

Mathieu Laca, The Boudoir, 2011

I guess that every kid would say that his mother is someone very special. I don’t want to brag about mine but she was something between a super clown and a hysterical cheerleader. Once, she asked me if I thought she had any enemies. I instantly said “No!” without hesitation. And I added: “Nobody would dare!” When I was a young kid she was an actress. She had to stop her career when I was six; one day, my father said: “Lucille, you have to choose. It’s either your husband or your career as an actress”. She chose the husband. That’s when my father started to regret his ultimatum and that’s when began my mother’s never-ending show.

She started waking up before everybody else to apply many layers of makeup, adjust her wig (in the seventies, when it was really fashionable, she had something like twelve of them), put on some flashy dress and climb over those super high heels; only then was she ready to start her everyday chores like cleaning the house and cooking tasteless meals.

Once, she had that very big accident with her car. As a matter of fact, she “learned” to drive a car when she was fifty but I never accepted to go anywhere with her if she was driving. She was a real menace. Lucky for her, that day, even if the car was a total wreck, she was not wounded. The accident must have been rather spectacular because the police and the ambulance came. When she told people about the accident, she always finished this way: “It was a terrible experience but, in the end, I was quite lucky because, when the ambulance came, I still had my hat on and my dress wasn’t wrinkled at all”.

In my hometown, everybody knew Lucille. She was some kind of star. Of course, she was always asked to do public appearances. When there was a banquet to celebrate something special, Lucille was the MC. When there was a political meeting, she was the one who introduced the speakers. She sang at church (she had quite a nice voice), she was in charge of tears and laments at the funerals (she could be so pathetic!) and she was satisfied only when she had her daily dose of thunderous applause.

Life was never dull with her around. But at least, I learned one really great thing from her: I learned how great artists operate. Whenever she was preparing something important, she always told me about her plans. Most of the times, I was terrified to learn what she was planning: I was always afraid of the day she would face her Waterloo. Usually, I was begging her not to do what she was planning because it always sounded so over the top. And every time she replied: “Ah!... you only say that because you don’t know these people. Just watch me and you’ll see…” And every time she was right. She knew people. She knew how to pull a tear or a laugh out. She knew how to win applause. She knew how to sow laughter to harvest happiness. She was quite an artist!

That’s how artists operate. They know! How? That’s a gift from some wicked little devil inside. But, they know, that’s all.

They know!

Comeau

The Reign of the Mighty Fears

Mathieu Laca, Eminence, 2010 (private collection)

I am not an artist. I would love to be an artist, but I am not. You don’t decide to be an artist as you decide to be an accountant or a butcher. I love art. I love an artist. Being married to an artist, I am married to art. That’s probably why I married an artist!

Since art is our life, I try to help. I build stretchers, crates; I build frames. Sometimes I build rather elaborate frames that involve carving and gold leafing. That way, I stay in close touch with oil paint and turpentine. These odors are part of our lives and I can’t imagine staying away from them for a very long time.

But nevertheless, I envy artists. I think it is a blessing to be the way they are. When I look at their work, I say to myself: “How lucky they are to be able to create without fear!” As for myself, every time I start a new framing project, I am surrounded by fears. I am afraid I might not be able to make a better frame than the last one. Afraid that the plan I have in my mind might be impossible to carry out. Afraid that the frame might not be appropriate for the painting, too big, too small, too flashy, too dull, too dark, too bright. Afraid that the finished frame, built, sanded, “gessoed”, covered with Armenian bole and gold leaves might just be a quarter of an inch too small, you know the I-forgot-to-add-two-times-the-width-of-the-plank situation? Did you ever ask an artist if he could cut his painting just a quarter of an inch to fit in your frame?

It’s probably because I am not an artist, because I didn’t receive that blessing, because my fears are ruled by the respect I have for art that I get so mad when I see artists being surrounded by fears. Artists might not be rich, they might not be loved by everyone, they might be criticized, hated sometimes, but being artists, they should be free. What’s the purpose of creating if you are not free?

In 1948, Paul-Émile Borduas wrote the “Refus Global”. In this admirable manifesto, he wrote: “And fear in its many forms no longer ruled the land”. Lucky for him he is not with us anymore. How disappointed would he be seeing artists submerged with “fear of prejudice - of public opinion - of persecution - of general reprobation - fear of being alone without God or a society that inevitably isolates us - fear of ourselves - of our brothers - of poverty - fear of the established order - of absurd laws - fear of fresh relations - fear of the surrational - fear of internal drives - fear of opening the floodgates of our faith in man - in the society of the future - fear of anything that might trigger a transforming love”!

How sad it is to hear artists talking about their work and beginning with: “I would love to… but…” More and more, I have the feeling that the world of Art is under the reign of mighty fears. “I would love to paint this or that but I have to eat!” “I would love to paint this or that but nobody will accept to show my work”. We don’t hear anymore about those fabulous revolutions caused by artists daring to show what they feel should be shown. No! We fear bad reactions at a few inoffensive caricatures. We look at priceless works of art being taken away from the walls of government buildings and replaced with cheap royal portraits without puking. We accept that our government treats our artists like shit without saying a word.

Some of us even think that self-censorship might be a virtue.

We paint nudes that are nothing else but eunuchs. And people applaud.

Sickening!

Comeau