The Tea Party, huile sur lin / oil on linen, 183cmX123cm, 2011
15/06/2012
10/06/2012
Bosch
huile et pigments traditionnels sur lin, encadrement à gorge en chêne avec applique sculptée dorée à la feuille d'argent / oak shadow box with carved onlay gilded with silver leaf, 92cm X 73cm, 2012
Je ne pouvais pas dépeindre Bosch en complet-cravate, ou l’équivalent à son époque, n’est-ce pas? Alors je l’ai peint avec un entonnoir sur la tête, comme s’il venait de s’échapper de la Nef des fous, une lueur de folie dans les yeux. Ça me fascine toujours comment ce peintre, il y a si longtemps, a pu avoir le cran de peindre de si rocambolesques fantaisies à côté desquelles même nos récents surréalistes ont l’air apprivoisés!
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My portrait was painted using only pigments that were available to Bosch 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 Bosch 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).
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Below is a detail of the frame. Just as the painting, the framing also refers to tradition. It quotes traditional woodcarving patterns with a silver leaf onlay at the bottom 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'une applique dorée à la feuille d'argent dans le coin inférieur droit du pourtant très moderne encadrement à gorge en chêne.
Hieronymus Bosch, The Ship of Fools / La Nef des Fous, 1500
Hieronymus Bosch, The Temptation of St. Anthony (detail below) /La Tentation de Saint Antoine (detail ci-dessous), 1500
Interview With Mathieu Laca on Italian blog http://foggygrizzly.blogspot.com/
q) Please introduce yourself.
a) Hello, my name is Mathieu Laca and I’m a painter.
q) Where do you live and work?
a) I live and work in Laval, a suburb of Montreal, the largest city in Québec which is the French-speaking province of Canada.
q) How would you describe your work to someone who has never seen it?
a) First, I would say that my work is figurative but also daring, provocative, challenging. I would say that it’s not decorative.
q) How did you start in the arts? How/when did you realize you were an artist?
a) In 1999, when I was 17, I remember as well as if it was yesterday of one of the very large ink and graphite drawings I did for a special project. As I was sketching out a torso with curved lines, something happened. I had a strong and marvelous feeling. The muscles instinctively took shape under my fingers. It was as if my hand was guided. This imploring figure that I drew, emerging from a black sea, its ribcage offered in sacrifice, its weeping phallic shark-like head… it was me! That was what I was living at that precise moment and that no words could ever describe. I was trying to emerge from darkness. The excitement of that revelation and the sense of completion were almost unbearable. At that moment, I knew that I would dedicate my life to painting.
q) What are your favorite art materials and why?
a) Oil paint. Why? It was invented to represent human flesh and that’s what interests me.
q) What/who influences you most?
a) As you learn, you go through phases during which you’re inspired by different artists. I went through a lot of phases. Consequently, I was inspired by a lot of artists. But, when I found a style that suited me, that was my own and that really came from within, I stopped searching for “a way” to paint. I have to say though that the artist that fascinated me most and that continues to do so is Francis Bacon. His obsession for the human figure, his incredible confidence in painterly “mistakes”, the way he literally has put his guts onto canvas… His color combinations, the way he distorted bodies according to his feeling, how he was never satisfied with depicting the surface of things, how he wanted to reach the core… All that appeals to me. Although sometimes my work is very different in the mood or technique, I strive for his intensity.
q) Describe a typical day of art making for you.
A I wake up at 7am, walk my dogs and feed them. Then, I go to my studio where I paint until noon. I eat. I go back to the studio until 5pm when my working day is over. 7 days a week, 365 days a year or almost. As simple as that.
q) Do you have goals, specific things you want to achieve with your art or in your career as an artist?
a) I want to upstage Picasso. The problem is that I’m Canadian and that Canadians don’t support their artists as larger countries do. The art market is just not big enough here.
q) What contemporary artists or developments in art interest you?
a) I’m interested in seeing more contemporary painters in museums. I’m really bored with all those postmodern installations and videos. I think it’s time we see painting as a relevant medium to express contemporary issues and not just a relic of the past.
q) How long does it typically take you to finish a piece?
a) In average, I spend 3-5 days on a piece.
q) Do you enjoy selling your pieces, or are you emotionally attached to them?
a) I’m not attached to most of them. Some of them I particularly love but then I know I’ll make other good ones. Selling a piece just encourages me to make more. It also makes space for others to come.
q) Is music important to you? If so, what are some things you're listening to now?
a) Music is very important in the studio. It sets the mood. Right now I’m listening to the French singer Barbara. Very tragic and sensitive.
q) Books?
a) Books are very important too. My all-time favorite books are Rimbaud’s Illuminations and Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Right now, I’m reading a biography of Francis Bacon.
q) What theories or beliefs do you have regarding creativity or the creative process?
a) I believe art is deeply spiritual. More than religion, which is essentially political.
q) What do you do (or what do you enjoy doing) when you're not creating?
a) Having sex. And playing with my dogs.
q) Do you have any projects or shows coming up that you are particularly excited about?
a) I’ll have a solo show called “Balls to the Wall” at the Patrick John Mills Gallery in Ottawa in November 2012.
q) Do you follow contemporary art scenes? If so, how? What websites, magazines, galleries do you prefer?
a) I don’t really “follow” it. I just get a glimpse of it here and there and that’s enough.
q) Ask yourself a question you'd like to answer, and answer it: What are you working on right now?
a) I’m working on a series of portraits of old masters (such as Rembrandt, Goya, Velasquez) using only pigments those painters were using in their time. I had to do a lot of research first to find what pigments the old masters I had in mind were using and then to get the costly and rare Vermilion, Lapis Lazuli, Orpiment, Malachite and other precious tubes. Most of these colors are mainly used by restorers nowadays and only sold in very small quantities.
q) Any advice for aspiring artists?
a) Be patient. Follow your desire without making compromise.
q) Where can we see more of your work online?
Van Gogh (after Vincent)
Mathieu Laca, Vincent Van Gogh II, oil on linen / huile sur toile, oak shadow box with carved onlay gilded with gold leaf / encadrement à gorge en chêne avec applique sculptée dorée à la feuille, 86cmX72cm, 2012For this portrait of Van Gogh, I used in the highlights one of Vincent's favorite color (if not his favorite), the one he used to paint his famous sunflowers with: Chrome Yellow. It's a very beautiful lemon yellow, bright and powerful when mixed. I've put it in contrast with an orangey yellow ocher and vermilion, all of which are against a cobalt turquoise background.
I spent a lot of time painting his skull over and over again. In my portraits, the top of the head often represent the inner turmoil of the subject. In this case, the turmoil was so intense that it almost abstracted all of Vincent's forehead. But I was pleased with the result: a subtly irradiating head, as if Vincent's mind had just been embodied, right before he left to paint at his last location.
Detail of the frame:
Here's another portrait of Van Gogh I did a few months ago:
I spent a lot of time painting his skull over and over again. In my portraits, the top of the head often represent the inner turmoil of the subject. In this case, the turmoil was so intense that it almost abstracted all of Vincent's forehead. But I was pleased with the result: a subtly irradiating head, as if Vincent's mind had just been embodied, right before he left to paint at his last location.
Detail of the frame:
Here's another portrait of Van Gogh I did a few months ago:
Mathieu Laca, Vincent Van Gogh I, huile sur lin/oil on linen, 77cmX62cm, 2011
Vincent Van Gogh, Tournesols dans un vase, 1888Titian on the Loose
Titian lived to be 86 years old. His artistic inheritance was enormous. He was the head figure of the Venetian School, known for its legendary use of color (as opposed to the Florentine School [Michelangelo] for which drawing was pre-eminent) and the Netherlandish technique of oil painting. What I find most interesting about Titian is not that role in art history but rather this particular phenomenon we encounter with painters who live quite old (we see it with Goya too). Their style changes radically. Their colors are darker and they become wonderfully sketchy. Their brushwork becomes so alive! They don’t bother polishing anymore. They have nothing to prove. No one to please. That’s what happened to Titian at the end of his life. He painted as if he was on fire! His Flaying of Marsyas is one the greatest examples of that late ecstatic freedom.
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My portrait was painted using only pigments that were available to Titian 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 Le Titien 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).
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Below is a detail of the frame. Just as the painting, the framing also refers to tradition. It quotes traditional woodcarving patterns with a copper leaf onlay at the bottom left 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'une applique dorée à la feuille de cuivre dans le coin inférieur gauche du pourtant très moderne encadrement à gorge en chêne.
Below is a detail of the frame. Just as the painting, the framing also refers to tradition. It quotes traditional woodcarving patterns with a copper leaf onlay at the bottom left 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'une applique dorée à la feuille de cuivre dans le coin inférieur gauche du pourtant très moderne encadrement à gorge en chêne.
Titian, The Flaying of Marsyas / Le Supplice de Marsyas, 1575Sexy Ingres
huile et pigments traditionnels sur lin, encadrement à gorge en chêne avec appliques sculptées dorées
à la feuille bigarrée / oak shadow box with carved onlays gilded with red variegated gold leaf, 83cm X 71cm, 2012
à la feuille bigarrée / oak shadow box with carved onlays gilded with red variegated gold leaf, 83cm X 71cm, 2012
One of the things I learned about Ingres’ technique is that he painted on an intense red ground. Using to a maximum the natural transparency of oil paint, this had the effect of giving incredible life to his figures. By seeing red piercing through the fine subsequent layers of flesh, it’s as if we could see blood pumping through the skin. Life beating from under the paint. My portrait gives tribute to that technical device he used. That intense bright red erupts on the right side of the portrait in a lyrical abstraction that echoes the painter’s sensuous gaze.
Une des choses que j’ai apprises sur la technique d’Ingres est qu’il peignait sur un fond d’un rouge très intense. Utilisant au maximum la transparence naturelle de la peinture à l’huile, cela avait pour effet de donner une incroyable vie à ses personnages. Voyant le rouge poindre à travers les fines couches d’huile subséquentes composant la chair, c’est comme si on voyait le sang sourdre sous la peau. La vie palpite sous la peinture. Mon portrait rend hommage à cette technique qu’il utilisait. Un rouge vif fait irruption à la droite du portrait dans une abstraction lyrique qui fait écho au regard sensuel du peintre.
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Below is a detail of the frame. Just as the painting, the framing also refers to tradition. It quotes traditional woodcarving patterns with red variegated gold leaf onlays on the right side 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 bigarrée sur le côté droit du pourtant très moderne encadrement à gorge en chêne.
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My portrait was painted using only pigments that were available to Ingres 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 Ingres 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).
Courbet censored on Facebook
Mathieu Laca, Gustave Courbet, huile et pigments traditionnels sur lin /oil and traditional pigments on linen, 77cm X 62cm, 2012
I think Courbet was the first artist to fully understand the importance of self-promotion. Since he did not have the support of the conventional Académie and the Salon, he had to take the matters into his own hands and invent new means of publicity for his work. He was very politically engaged and maintained a good relationship with left-wing journalists and art critics that often published articles on his work. He was very aware that scandals were the best way to make himself known so he constantly hammered the Salon with large provocative pieces. He even submitted works he knew would be refused in order to broadcast that refusal and comfort his modern hero attitude. He became such a star that we find caricatures of him in the popular press. No doubt that this guy, has he been living today, would have used Facebook like crazy. I'm sure he would have jumped with excitement seeing his work The Origin of the World beeing censored as it quite noisily has been recently by this very puritanical social media.
Je crois que Courbet a été le premier artiste à saisir toute l’importance de l’auto-promotion. Puisqu’il n’avait pas l’appui des institutions traditionnelles qu’étaient l’Académie et le Salon, il a dû prendre en charge sa promotion et inventer de nouveaux moyens de la faire. Il était très engagé politiquement et a entretenu d’excellentes relations avec des journalistes et des critiques d’art de gauche qui publiaient régulièrement des articles sur son travail. Il était très conscient de la valeur immense du scandale pour se faire connaître et a ainsi assommé le Salon de grandes toiles provocantes à tous les ans. Il a même soumis des œuvres en sachant qu’elles seraient refusées pour enfin diffuser ce refus et conforter son attitude de héros moderne. Il est devenu une telle vedette qu’on retrouvait des caricatures le représentant dans la presse populaire. Aucun doute que, s’il eût vécu aujourd’hui, il aurait fait un usage effréné de Facebook. Je suis certain qu'il aurait sauté de joie de voir son Origine du monde censurée dans les émois comme ça a été le cas récemment par ce très puritain réseau social.
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My portrait was painted using only pigments that were available to Courbet 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 Courbet 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).
Gustave Courbet, The Origin of the World / L'Origine du monde, 1866
Gustave Courbet, The Burial at Ornans / L'enterrement à Ornans, 1849About Flowers and Butts
A wise man once said: “He who can paint nice flowers with the matching pot, can paint an ugly face with the matching butt”. It’s generally the case of every great saying; we never know exactly what it means, so we try to imagine.
What wouldn’t we do to be loved? I, for one, tired or not, wake up every morning at seven to take the dogs out. Why? Of course, it’s partly because I don’t want to get poop all over the place, but mainly because I want my dogs to love me. When the mailman brings, day after day, my neighbor’s bills in my mailbox, do I flush the stack? No! I put on a nice big smile on my face, knock at my neighbor’s door and kindly give him the crap. Why? Love! And, the other day, when that stupid young brat on roller blades yelled at me to shove off because he wasn’t able to stop and I was in his way, I could have stretched a leg sending the kid flying in the bush. No! I gently pushed away repressing my will to kill, or, at least, to hurt him like hell. Why? Love! We, humans, are like that. We’ll do anything to be loved; that’s what makes mankind so lovable and so many human beings a pain in the ass.
However, we must be careful not to over-do it. What about your dentist? Does he have any choice? He must pull that aching tooth out, love or not. And what about the policeman, when you miss a stop sign? Can he be lovable? And your doctor, and the mailman with your stack of bills, and the teacher when your kid just broke the dean’s office window with a golf ball (What the hell was he doing with a golf ball at school?), and the guy writing to you about that income tax you “forgot” to pay. What about those who can’t be lovable just because it’s their job to be obnoxious? Somebody has to do the dirty jobs!
What about the artists? Almost all of them are normal human beings (Here, I could put a few names but I want so much to be lovable!). This morning, I saw on Facebook photos of an opening at a nearby gallery. The guy wanted so much to be loved; or, maybe he needed desperately to eat. Frankly, it was sickening! Huge portraits of Marilyn Monroe (Yes! Some artists are that desperate!); huge portraits of Einstein (Albert; not Franck); huge portraits of Elizabeth Taylor before she started to droop; huge portraits of what I presume to be a local female singer with surgically enhanced and probably sexy lips. I am sure the guy must sell. Just the kind of paintings people buy to decorate a living room and try to sell at a garage sale when they change decoration.
This is what I find profoundly fair about art. It is not that hard to sell like a whore. Whores can be lovable. As a matter of fact, isn’t it what they sell, love, or some kind of love? At least they try their best to be lovable even if they think the client looks like a stinking beast.
Everybody has a role to play in society. The preacher preaches, the teacher teaches, the manager manages and the secretary secretes. But, what about the visual artist? They, too, have a role to play in society. But their role is certainly not to please at any price or to produce pieces that would inevitably find some jerk to buy it just because “it looks so much like art”!
What exactly is the role of the visual artist? It is not for me to answer. I wouldn’t even try to answer such a question (Remember, I want so much to be lovable).
All I know is that there is an unrelenting justice in Art. If an artist doesn’t fairly play the role he was born to play, sooner or later, he ends up in a garage sale.
What wouldn’t we do to be loved? I, for one, tired or not, wake up every morning at seven to take the dogs out. Why? Of course, it’s partly because I don’t want to get poop all over the place, but mainly because I want my dogs to love me. When the mailman brings, day after day, my neighbor’s bills in my mailbox, do I flush the stack? No! I put on a nice big smile on my face, knock at my neighbor’s door and kindly give him the crap. Why? Love! And, the other day, when that stupid young brat on roller blades yelled at me to shove off because he wasn’t able to stop and I was in his way, I could have stretched a leg sending the kid flying in the bush. No! I gently pushed away repressing my will to kill, or, at least, to hurt him like hell. Why? Love! We, humans, are like that. We’ll do anything to be loved; that’s what makes mankind so lovable and so many human beings a pain in the ass.
However, we must be careful not to over-do it. What about your dentist? Does he have any choice? He must pull that aching tooth out, love or not. And what about the policeman, when you miss a stop sign? Can he be lovable? And your doctor, and the mailman with your stack of bills, and the teacher when your kid just broke the dean’s office window with a golf ball (What the hell was he doing with a golf ball at school?), and the guy writing to you about that income tax you “forgot” to pay. What about those who can’t be lovable just because it’s their job to be obnoxious? Somebody has to do the dirty jobs!
What about the artists? Almost all of them are normal human beings (Here, I could put a few names but I want so much to be lovable!). This morning, I saw on Facebook photos of an opening at a nearby gallery. The guy wanted so much to be loved; or, maybe he needed desperately to eat. Frankly, it was sickening! Huge portraits of Marilyn Monroe (Yes! Some artists are that desperate!); huge portraits of Einstein (Albert; not Franck); huge portraits of Elizabeth Taylor before she started to droop; huge portraits of what I presume to be a local female singer with surgically enhanced and probably sexy lips. I am sure the guy must sell. Just the kind of paintings people buy to decorate a living room and try to sell at a garage sale when they change decoration.
This is what I find profoundly fair about art. It is not that hard to sell like a whore. Whores can be lovable. As a matter of fact, isn’t it what they sell, love, or some kind of love? At least they try their best to be lovable even if they think the client looks like a stinking beast.
Everybody has a role to play in society. The preacher preaches, the teacher teaches, the manager manages and the secretary secretes. But, what about the visual artist? They, too, have a role to play in society. But their role is certainly not to please at any price or to produce pieces that would inevitably find some jerk to buy it just because “it looks so much like art”!
What exactly is the role of the visual artist? It is not for me to answer. I wouldn’t even try to answer such a question (Remember, I want so much to be lovable).
All I know is that there is an unrelenting justice in Art. If an artist doesn’t fairly play the role he was born to play, sooner or later, he ends up in a garage sale.
Comeau
The Happy Beaver, the Jolly Lovers and a Barrel of Powder
Mathieu Laca, Ride, 2009How I would like to show you one of Mathieu’s (Laca) latest paintings. To be exact, he finished it a couple of months ago; long before it was really finished, I fell in love with it and decided to frame it. For me, it was such a precious piece that I took more than five months to build the frame. But, sadly, I can’t show it right now on the blog because it is part of the next show, I Killed the Group of Seven. Sometimes, it’s really cruel to have to play by the rules; rules are rules, and I intend to respect every one of them; but nobody said I couldn’t talk about it so, here it is!
First, I must say that I was never a great fan of Canadian History. Even if I know that those things are important, I always thought that the past was boring. “We must learn History if we don’t want to make the same mistakes again and again”. Crap! We constantly make the same mistakes anyway. “We must know where we come from to know where we’re going to”. Crap! Look at politics, look at the economy, look at the environment, look at the way Religions are behaving, look at hate growing like weed everywhere; I’ll tell you where we’re heading: head first in a brick wall! I don’t need to read any big book to know that! And, let’s be honest: the way History is taught is not always credible: read a chapter of Canadian History in a French book and read the same chapter in an English book and you feel like you’re reading two different collections of lies.
When I first saw Mathieu’s painting called Ottawa, I understood so many things. In that single painting you can see our past, all of King Harper’s reign, and where all this mess is taking us. You almost can feel the huge blast that will probably put an end to all the stupidities we can see daily in the newscast. The wick can’t burn forever! The scene is tragic, it’s funny, it’s sad, it’s gross, it’s inevitable, it’s unbelievable, it’s obscene, it’s the cruel reality and, most of all, it’s totally stupid, just like politics, past, present and future, just like our PM licking Queen Elizabeth’s ass hoping she’ll hit him with her magic wand to make him look more and more like the gruesome sticky stinking frog he is in reality. All that in a single painting!
Sometimes I worry. What’s going on inside Mathieu’s head? I live with him; we spend all our time together; we work together, we eat together, we relax together, we sleep together. I should know what’s going on inside his head! But, frankly, I don’t have a single clue. Sometimes, he reminds me of Hieronymus Bosch: those guys with flutes up their ass, these couples making love inside huge glass bubbles, those figures with human bodies and bird heads eating people, those self propelled knives cutting ears and balls… Isn’t it just like the real world? When you see those politicians on TV trying to convince people that Art and Culture is not important and even dangerous, don’t they remind you of that guy with a flute up his ass?
That’s what I love about great artists: we can’t imagine what’s going on inside their head. I don’t believe I would be able to live my everyday life without those visions they so generously give us.
At the same time, it makes me sad to realize that being an artist must be a terrible solitude. I always do my best to share Mathieu’s world but I know it’s useless. Great artists are modern hermits: they live in a world we can’t understand but they generously give us ways of living in ours without becoming too crazy.
You must see this painting: it’s Ottawa as you never saw it!
Comeau
The Bogeyman
Mathieu Laca, Bluebeard, 2006One of the worst stories I ever heard in my life was the one of Matthew Shepard. “Matthew Wayne Shepard (December 1, 1976 – October 12, 1998) was a student at the University of Wyoming who was tortured and murdered near Laramie Wyoming, in October 1998. He was attacked on the night of October 6–7, and died at Poudre Valley Hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado, on October 12 from severe head injuries” (Wikipedia). He was tortured and murdered because of his sexual orientation. Nobody can imagine how this story could get worst than it already was; but human nature is a bottomless pit of hate and anger. During Matthew’s funerals, Reverend Fred Phelps of the Wesboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas and his flock demonstrated carrying signs showing hateful slogans.
This story came back to my mind this morning when I received an email denouncing ways groups that specialize in spreading hate all over the world use to fund themselves. Many of these groups are well known: Abiding Truth Ministries, New Generation Ministries, Noua Drepata, Truth in Action Ministries, Dove World Outreach Ministries, Julio Severo's Last Days Watchman Site, Faithful Word Baptist Church, Family Research Institute, Americans for Truth About Homosexuality, American Society for the Defense of Tradition Family and Property. Those are only ten among the worst, but the list could be frighteningly long.
Hate, hostility, anger, righteous indignation is, for so many persons, a way of life. For these individuals or these groups, hate, hostility, anger, righteous indignation is spelled: P-O-W-E-R. Power over gays, power over races, power over women, power over needy, power over elders, etc. is their daily bread.
This is what I call the Bogeyman Syndrome. Mom said: “If you don’t stop sucking your thumb, the Bogeyman will get you!” She looked so powerful! We were so afraid!
Sadly, the Bogeyman is still all over the world. Wherever somebody is looking for power, the Bogeyman is never very far.
I wish I could show you Mathieu’s (Laca) painting called The Bogeyman that will be featured in the upcoming “I killed the Group of Seven” exhibition. In just a blink, we see, we feel, we understand all of the Bogeyman Syndrome. It’s powerful, it’s frightening, a true picture of hatred when it takes root in the heart of man. But, remember what I said in my last post on this blog (link): I am totally respectful of rules!
That’s not completely true. To be frank, I, too, am scared of the Bogeyman!
Comeau
Good Luck!
Mathieu Laca, Saint Étienne, 2004Let’s be honest. Success in Art is mainly a matter of luck!
First, I go to the store to buy wood to build stretchers. I buy and pay. I go to the specialized store to buy linen (44 km back and forth). Since linen comes from Belgium, it takes six to eight weeks to get it; six or eight weeks later, I go to the specialized store to get the linen; I buy and pay (shit! How much? That’s mad!) (44 km back and forth). I build the stretcher, cut linen (carefully!) and stretch the linen; schlack schlack goes the gun-tacker. One coat of gesso; second coat of gesso; not perfect? Third coat of gesso. I wet the pigment in oil, I grind the pigment, grind the pigment, grind the pigment: tennis elbow! Myoflex. I sketch, I draw, I erase, I sketch again, I draw again. Satisfied? No! Draw, sketch, draw, sketch. Paint. One day; two days; one week; two weeks; sometimes, one month. Always standing. My back hurts. Myoflex. I sit; can’t work like that; I stand; my back hurts. Myoflex. Have to work the upper part: up the stepladder. Down the stepladder; up; down; up; down. My back hurts. Myoflex. A blink through the mirror; it’s a bit crooked. I correct. Up the stepladder; down. Put the painting higher; too high. Take it down; too low. Put it back; up the stepladder; down; up; down. My back hurts. Myoflex. The thing must dry. Put it away for a while. Trip to the drugstore to buy more Myoflex. I buy and pay.
Build a new stretcher. Schlack Schlack. Gesso. Grind. Tennis elbow. Myoflex. Paint. Up the stepladder. Dry. Put away.
Build a stretcher.
Go back to the first. Not dry. Put away. Take the second. Fuck. Take the third. Build a new stretcher. Schlack, schlack. Myoflex break.
Must advertise. I buy space in a magazine: it takes all the money I received from my last sale. Shit! I negotiate; black and white? Are you crazy? Full color, please; I sell paintings, for C….. sake! How much? Are you crazy? It takes all the money I received from my previous sale too. Shit! Hope I make the right move! On the other way, no moves, no sales.
Write a newsletter. Send a newsletter. Add names to the mailing list. Send pamphlets by mail; cost a fortune! Five of them bounce. Moved. Take photos. Let’s have fun with Photoshop. I look like shit. More photos. That’s better. Photoshop. Even better! Send photo to mailing list. Five of them bounce.
At last, the magazine is out: nice ad! Send magazines by mail to special clients. Send posters to special clients. Send wishes to special client. Send email to special client. Answer special client’s email. Love special clients!
Sale! Send painting to Germany (cost a fortune!) Sale. Send painting to Norway (cost a fortune!) Sale! Send painting to Israel (cost a fortune!). United States (not that bad after all!)
Painting is dry. Second coat. Third coat. Put away. Dry. Glaze. Put away. Dry.
Go to special store to buy special wood. (40 km back and forth). Build a frame with special wood. Cut my finger with saw! Shit! Sand special wood for frame. Breathe dust; blow the nose. Tiny drops of blood. Shit! One, two, three… seven coats of lacquer on frame made from special wood. Breathe fumes; feel funny; let’s party! Nice! Frame painting.
Build a crate; splinter in finger; take splinter out; put painting in crate; put crate in car. Monthly trip to gallery to bring crates with framed paintings. Hang paintings. Back to studio (422 km. back and forth). Pooped! Sleep for a while. Still have pieces of that fucking splinter in finger; hurts like hell! Get up; splinter out. Back to bed. Faint.
Paint for a few days. Back to the gallery for the opening (422 km. back and forth). Smile; shake hands; re-smile; sign magazines; re-re-smile. Drive back. Pooped! Go to bed; make love; mix lube with Myoflex; outch! It burns! Sleep for a while.
Thanks God it’s the weekend. Saturday: paint. Sunday: build stretcher, schlack, schlack…
Monday morning: back to work!
Let’s be honest. Success in Art is mainly a matter of luck!
Comeau
The Orchid and the Vulture
Mathieu Laca, Self-portrait, 2008Sometimes, I could spend hours contemplating and meditating upon one of his works. What does it mean? Why did he put this figure beside this one, this object over this one? Why did he choose that color? What is he trying to tell us; is he always choosing consciously? I know very well in advance that I will never completely understand; but since I am especially stubborn, I keep on trying.
Let’s take the above, for instance: self-portrait? So true! So terribly true! I know him very well, believe me! He is not only part of this picture: he is all of it. He is the orchid: what a peculiar flower! Nobody seems to be able to decide whether it blooms or not, when it blooms, for how long. Sometimes, the flowers may stay for weeks, even months; but at the same time, it is so fragile: a simple bump and it falls down. Sometimes, it looks more like a butterfly than a flower; it looks like it will fly away if you dare moving even one finger. One minute, it looks perfectly healthy and, a minute later, it falls on the table just before your eyes, dead; even if you were perfectly still. He is also the figure: so vulnerable but so cheeky at the same time. He has nothing to hide, no sense of modesty and always ready to jump. Beware of this look: he sees everything. Can he really stand like that on a ladder? Is it ever possible? Yes, it is. He did it. He posed while I was taking photos. For at least an hour, he stayed on that ladder, climbed up, climbed down, hanged himself on the rungs, head up, head down, like some kind of stubborn cat, never saying a word, concentrating on one thing: the movements, the gestures, the beauty of his body, the mystery of his look. He is the vulture: mysteriously flying in skies nobody else can reach. And the eyes: those penetrating eyes, those X-ray guns that dig right to the bottom of your heart. He’s up the ladder where nobody can reach him; up where everybody can see him, shameless, proud and powerful. Ready to escape through the highest rose window followed by his faithful and, at the same time, frightening bird. Powerful; vulnerable; strong; tender; aggressive; all that at the same time, in the same mind, in the same body, all that making a wonderful artist, sometimes an incomprehensible human being.
He is part of this painting like he is in every picture he creates. Take most of his works. Always violence and tenderness fighting. Love and war. Holiness and evil.
But, everywhere, strength. Omnipresent strength.
Why is the strength of love so terrifying sometimes?
Comeau
Soooo Cute!
Yesterday I had to go to the drugstore. When I got there, a neighbor was getting out of the store and shouted: “Hey, where are the dogs?” I felt a little stupid answering: “They don’t like going to the drugstore! Hey! Hey!” Stupid question, stupid answer! People are so used to see us, Mathieu and I, with the Gemini (Yes! They’re called Castor and Pollux! Cute, isn’t it?); in our hometown, we are known as the “guys with the dogs”: great for the ego! I should admit that we’re always with our “babies” (two huge Labradors, 100 pounds each, no fat, all muscle, 3 years old but still acting like puppies, combined IQ: 10,5); if there is somewhere we can’t go with the dogs, we don’t go. Something we can’t do with them, we just don’t do it!
They really are master mischief-makers. I could spend a whole day telling people about the time Castor grabbed one of Mathieu’s orchids, the 60$ one of course, and started to run around the backyard with the wounded plant in his mouth… with Mathieu following and screaming! Or the time he chewed on one of our friend’s eyeglasses. Or the time Pollux ripped open four or five garbage bags in less than two seconds. Every morning they start their day with a good “fight” growling and barking and then, they start spinning around until we are outside, ready or not, for their mega-ball-game of the day. Cute, isn’t it? At least, that’s how people react when we tell those events. Cute? Are you sure? Afterwards, maybe! But when you have to bring to your friend a pile of brooken glass with twisted metal and chewed-on plastic, you don’t find it that… cute!
People tend to romanticize things they don’t live but would secretly like to experience. That’s what they generally do when they talk about an artist’s passion. Isn’t it romantic to think about young Rimbaud struggling with life, with his ambiguous sexuality, walking around the world wearing nothing but torn clothes and smoking that long pipe of his, as we can see him in Total Eclipse starring Leonardo DiCaprio? It reminds me of another wonderful film retelling, this time, the life of Camille Claudel: it’s called Camille Claudel, and it’s from director Bruno Nuytten with Isabelle Adjani as Camille Claudel and Gérard Depardieu as Rodin. It’s a great film that perfectly depicts what artistic passion really is. Nothing romantic there. Just pure and simple passion, pure and simple obsession, more pain than gratification, love that hurts, art that takes all the place, sometimes joyful art, most of the time painful art. Passion. Real passion. True passion. In real life, artistic passion is anything but romantic; artistic passion is never cute: artistic passion is a never-ending struggle with an ever-present but invisible invader. Artistic passion makes you “eat, sleep, shit, live, breathe, cry, love, fuck, dream and kiss Art” as we can read on the latest of Patrick’s posters.
Artistic passion is a tragedy like those we can see in Ancient Greek plays. A man, alone, as weak as every man can be, is constantly fighting against a power much more powerful than he can ever imagine. A man living a life he didn’t decide to live. In those plays, the man never wins. The invisible power is always much too powerful. No man can fight such an enemy.
Passion is never… “sooo cute”! Passion is what makes real art; but, in the end, passion always wins.
If you love an artist, do whatever you can to help him as you should, knowing very well neither one of you will win the fight.
Simply love…
Comeau
A Strong Cocoa Aftertaste
Am I ever proud of my master degree in French linguistics, in experimental phonetics, to be more precise! Best move I ever made! To get such a diploma, I sweated for the last two years of my B.A., during my two years of “license” and then, rotted for three years in a laboratory spreading cocoa powder on my friends’ tongue and taking photos of cocoa prints on their palate. Disgusting, isn’t it? But nothing is really too ridiculous when you really want to add a few letters to your name… letters you never use anyway! By the way, at the time, I lost a few of my friends! I was highly motivated: all my teachers at the university constantly repeated that I would be one of the very few in Canada to deserve a PhD in experimental phonetics; what they didn’t say is that nobody needs someone with a f*****g PhD degree in experimental phonetics. So I quit after my master degree; I didn’t even go to the big show where they solemnly give you your dilploma paper; they sent it by mail! All my life I will remember the face of that guy at the unemployment office when I told him I was looking for a job in “experimental phonetics”; I’m sure he wet his pants!
Those years were not completely useless. I learned that somebody can easily choke on cocoa powder. I learned that you can easily feel like a piece of crap when you have a master degree and nobody wants to hire you and even thinks that you are the funniest thing around in weeks. I learned never to listen to somebody with more than three letters after his name. I learned that Canada doesn’t need a specialist in tongue-cocoa-spreading-and-palate-photography. And most of all, I learned that we always speak too much; with or without cocoa powder in our mouth. This last knowledge came from my studies in general linguistics. And, why do we speak too much? Because people don’t listen. And why don’t they listen? Because they know that most of what is coming out of your mouth is either cocoa powder or bullshit. Remember, I listened to my teachers’ bullshit!
So, I decided that I would spend my life speaking as little as possible. It’s not easy when you earn living teaching teenagers. On the other hand, teenagers quickly make you understand that everything that comes out of your mouth is either cocoa powder or bullshit. When you decide to speak as little as possible, you choose carefully what you say. And one of the ideas I thought was important for my students to know is that you can get anything from life if you give everything in exchange. In my 30 years of teaching I probably repeated that a thousand times. This is that kind of idea you can repeat again and again because it sounds wise and mainly because you know damn well nobody can give EVERYTHING to get something else.
Once more, I should have kept my big mouth shut. Can you imagine somebody that would give everything, and when I say everything, I mean EVERYTHING, to reach a goal. Somebody that wakes up thinking of this goal, talking about it while eating, somebody that buys clothes only if it serves this goal, somebody that exercises to get in shape to pursue this goal, somebody that can’t sit still and look at a television show if he doesn’t have his laptop to work a little, at least during the commercials, somebody that goes to bed each night dreaming of the day he would reach that precious goal, this goal he knows he will never reach because it constantly runs out of reach. Frightening, isn’t it? Might sound nagging! Not at all. If you ever meet people such as this wonderful guy, stick to them. They’re the only ones worth living with. They’re not real human beings; they’re gods.
That’s why my beloved Mathieu (Laca) is such a wonderful and promising artist. Sometimes I like to believe that maybe he listened to me when I told him about getting things from life.
I dream that maybe I might have made a difference.
Comeau B.A., L. ès linguistique, M.A. (phonétique expérimentale)
Whether We Like it or Not
Mathieu Laca, Bogeyman, 2011Sometimes, I look at myself in the mirror and, to be really frank, I don’t find very exciting the face I see on the other side of the glass. A bit depressing! I tend to ask myself: “Will it get much worst?” Everything happens so suddenly! One morning you’re still young, the next morning… Your whole skin seems to be desperately attracted by an irresistible force hidden somewhere beneath you. Maybe if I start standing on my head a few hours every day… Anyway, I guess I don’t have any choice; that’s what we call “getting old” and that’s what’s happening to me.
On the other hand, I think I’m living in a world that is getting more and more exciting years after years. Nowadays, the whole world seems to get upside down. Dictators are falling everywhere. People are demanding to be heard, mainly young people. Politicians, religious leaders, even famous journalists don’t have any choice but to justify what they repeated over and over again for decades. Everyday, on the news, we see a strange mixture of violence and hope, of hatred and love. It’s obvious that a new world order is taking place. The world won’t ever be the same, whether we like it or not.
I like it. Being probably the best example of a baby boomer, I am not that proud of the world we created. I guess we did what we could with what we had but I’m sure we could have done a better job even if it would have been less fun!
Anyway, most of the old values are seriously scratched and I think it’s highly exciting. Just wait for the day Steven Harper and his royalist brown-nosers hit a brick wall: what a national orgasm it will be! “Steven Harper and the royalist brown-nosers”: sounds like a great rock band, doesn’t it?
After all, I think I’m a lucky man. First, I’m not only happy with that new world order, I am blessed to be married to an artist that so perfectly well represents this new world. Sincerity and frankness are probably two of the main key words of that new order. A polluter is a polluter. A crook is a crook. A dictator is a dictator. An asshole is not called His Excellency. A pedophile is not called His Eminence. A fucking sadistic bullfighting fan is not called a traditional art lover. A cock is a cock, long, hard, throbbing and proud. Whether we like it or not.
Mathieu (Laca) is an artist that belongs to that new world. He’s a tremendous artist and an extraordinary technician: I’m sure he would be able to paint the Queen’s portrait with nothing else but a paintbrush stuck in his ass (this one is for Harper!). But he decided to talk about History, about pollution, about cruelty to animals, about political abuse of power… about that new world order that is taking place… whether we like it or not.
In a few months he will be 30. He is here to stay. He is here to grow as an artist and as a man. We might decide to put his paintings away when our mother-in-law is coming for dinner: but he will always be there ready to explode with his sincerity and his frankness.
Thanks to Mathieu, I’m sure, pretty soon everybody will be able to consider a cock for what it really is: a fucking cock!
Comeau
Arthur Rimbaud
Arthur Rimbaud, huile sur lin/oil on linen, 77cmX62cm, 2011Collection privée (Norvège) / Private collection (Norway)
Si le monde était dévasté en un clin d’œil, le seul livre qui saurait me donner du réconfort, le seul livre qui me permettrait réellement de vivre, puisqu’il contient le monde, serait Les Illuminations de Rimbaud. Il est de ces livres dont on n’épuise jamais le mystère, dont chaque phrase est une gorgée d’enfance qui nous emporte dans une merveilleuse torpeur. Il est de ces livres qui transforment. Même Rimbaud n’y a pas survécu. Consumé par son œuvre, il a dû « s’opérer vivant de la poésie » et cesser totalement d’écrire à 21 ans. Son silence demeurera à jamais le plus retentissant de toute la Poésie.
J’ai peint ce portrait de lui par amour. Alors qu’il n’était même pas encore sec, je l’ai vendu dans un pays lointain. Je vais l’envoyer prochainement. Tout cela n’a pas vraiment d’importance. Rimbaud existe. Il est partout. Il est avec moi. Il est en Norvège. Il est sur Jupiter où il jongle avec des sphères de métal. Non, il marche vers l’aurore. Éternellement. On n’a qu’à ouvrir un livre pour s’en rendre compte. Ou bien gratter une orange.
Moi, je peins continuellement. Et chaque fois que je pense à lui, je pleure.
Mathieu Laca
P.S. Voici un de mes poèmes préférés:
(English follows)
J’ai peint ce portrait de lui par amour. Alors qu’il n’était même pas encore sec, je l’ai vendu dans un pays lointain. Je vais l’envoyer prochainement. Tout cela n’a pas vraiment d’importance. Rimbaud existe. Il est partout. Il est avec moi. Il est en Norvège. Il est sur Jupiter où il jongle avec des sphères de métal. Non, il marche vers l’aurore. Éternellement. On n’a qu’à ouvrir un livre pour s’en rendre compte. Ou bien gratter une orange.
Moi, je peins continuellement. Et chaque fois que je pense à lui, je pleure.
Mathieu Laca
P.S. Voici un de mes poèmes préférés:
(English follows)
Conte
Un Prince était vexé de ne s'être employé jamais qu'à la perfection des générosités vulgaires. Il prévoyait d'étonnantes révolutions de l'amour, et soupçonnait ses femmes de pouvoir mieux que cette complaisance agrémentée de ciel et de luxe. Il voulait voir la vérité, l'heure du désir et de la satisfaction essentiels. Que ce fût ou non une aberration de piété, il voulut. Il possédait au moins un assez large pouvoir humain.
Toutes les femmes qui l'avaient connu furent assassinées. Quel saccage du jardin de la beauté! Sous le sabre, elles le bénirent. Il n'en commanda point de nouvelles. − Les femmes réapparurent.
Il tua tous ceux qui le suivaient, après la chasse ou les libations. − Tous le suivaient.
Il s'amusa à égorger les bêtes de luxe. Il fit flamber les palais. Il se ruait sur les gens et les taillait en pièces. −La foule, les toits d'or, les belles bêtes existaient encore.
Peut-on s'extasier dans la destruction, se rajeunir par la cruauté! Le peuple ne murmura pas. Personne n'offrit le concours de ses vues.
Un soir il galopait fièrement. Un Génie apparut, d'une beauté ineffable, inavouable même. De sa physionomie et de son maintien ressortait la promesse d'un amour multiple et complexe! d'un bonheur indicible, insupportable même! Le Prince et le Génie s'anéantirent probablement dans la santé essentielle. Comment n'auraient-ils pas pu en mourir? Ensemble donc ils moururent.
Mais ce Prince décéda, dans son palais, à un âge ordinaire. Le prince était le Génie. Le Génie était le Prince.
La musique savante manque à notre désir.
Rimbaud, (Les Illuminations, 1873-1875)
Toutes les femmes qui l'avaient connu furent assassinées. Quel saccage du jardin de la beauté! Sous le sabre, elles le bénirent. Il n'en commanda point de nouvelles. − Les femmes réapparurent.
Il tua tous ceux qui le suivaient, après la chasse ou les libations. − Tous le suivaient.
Il s'amusa à égorger les bêtes de luxe. Il fit flamber les palais. Il se ruait sur les gens et les taillait en pièces. −La foule, les toits d'or, les belles bêtes existaient encore.
Peut-on s'extasier dans la destruction, se rajeunir par la cruauté! Le peuple ne murmura pas. Personne n'offrit le concours de ses vues.
Un soir il galopait fièrement. Un Génie apparut, d'une beauté ineffable, inavouable même. De sa physionomie et de son maintien ressortait la promesse d'un amour multiple et complexe! d'un bonheur indicible, insupportable même! Le Prince et le Génie s'anéantirent probablement dans la santé essentielle. Comment n'auraient-ils pas pu en mourir? Ensemble donc ils moururent.
Mais ce Prince décéda, dans son palais, à un âge ordinaire. Le prince était le Génie. Le Génie était le Prince.
La musique savante manque à notre désir.
Rimbaud, (Les Illuminations, 1873-1875)
Tale
A Prince was vexed at having devoted himself only to the perfection of ordinary generosities.
He foresaw astonishing revolutions of love
and suspected his women of being able to do better
than their habitual acquiescence embellished by heaven and luxury.
He wanted to see the truth, the hour of essential desire and gratification.
Whether this was an aberration of piety or not,
that is what he wanted. Enough worldly power, at least, he had.
All the women who had known him were assassinated;
what havoc in the garden of beauty! At the point of the sword they blessed him.
He did not order new ones.-- The women reappeared.
He killed all those who followed him, after the hunt or the libations.--
All followed him. He amused himself cutting the throats of rare animals.
He set palaces on fire. He would rush upon people and hack them to pieces.--
The throngs, the gilded roofs, the beautiful animals still remained.
Can one be in ecstasies over destruction and by cruelty rejuvenated!
The people did not complain. No one offered him the benefit of his views.
One evening he was proudly galloping.
A Genie appeared, of ineffable beauty, unwavorable even.
In his face and in his bearing shone the promise of a complex and multiple love!
of an indescribable happiness, unendurable, even.
The Prince and the Genie annihilated each other probably in essential health.
How could they have helped dying of it?
Together then they died.
But this Prince died in his palace at an ordinary age,
the Prince was the Genie, the Genie was the Prince.--
There is no sovereign music for our desire.
Rimbaud, (Les Illuminations, 1873-1875)
Old Masters 2.0 (in Progress)
Mathieu Laca, Studio shot of works in progress,Center top: El Greco, Below: Rembrandt, Right: Goya
Patrick John Mills and I were talking about my recent portraits of painters when he came up with this idea: “Why don’t you paint old masters, such as Titian, but using the same pigments those painters were using in their time?” What a great challenge! It didn’t take more to spark my imagination.
First, I had to do a lot of research in order to find what particular pigments were used during the Renaissance and the Baroque period. Then, I had to find evidence of what pigments were used by the painters I intended to portray. This was easy enough for some. Goya even has a self-portrait where we can clearly identify each color on his palette. It proved to be quite difficult though for others like the Greco, although we can guess fairly well by just looking at his works closely and by considering the pigments available in his time.
Finding what pigments old masters used was unfortunately not all. I had to get them! How? A lot of them simply vanished. They have been replaced by synthetically manufactured ones and by pigments with a higher performance.
The first traditional color I became acquainted with is Lead white. Wow. Very different from Titanium white! Very toxic too, like all the pigments containing lead. It’s so tacky that when you apply it with a brush, the brush almost sticks to the canvas by itself! Barely exaggerating. At first, I thought that Lead white could not be mixed with sulfur based pigments such as Vermilion because I read about flesh tones in Middle Age illuminations that have turned black for that reason. But I later discovered that this phenomenon does not occur in oil paint where the oil seals each pigment particle, therefore preventing that chemical reaction.
The most beautiful color of all times is certainly the genuine Vermilion. It comes from mercury mines in China and is ground by hand in small batches. It has a very surprisingly high tinting power for a traditional color (almost as much as Phtalo Blue!) and a nice orangey red shade perfect for skin tones. In fact, I realized that, now that I can identify it, it’s everywhere in European painting! Whenever you see a touch of reflective light under a chin, you’re looking at Vermilion. Our recent Cadmium red simply does not stand the comparison. But beware of the price: 150$ for a 60ml tube!
Another wonderful but also very expensive color is Lapis Lazuli. The bright blue skies of Raphaël were painted with that very color. It comes from a costly mineral dug in Afghanistan. Originally, it gave its color to the first blue jeans. We now find synthetic imitations of that pigment under the name Ultramarine blue. I was surprised though of the low tinting power of that very subtle and translucent reddish blue. It proved to be perfectly suited to paint the meandering sky of my El Greco portrait.
I have yet to buy a decent yellow. I’m still painting only with a lemon ocher, which is not a very bright color. I’m very much looking forward to try a Lead-tin yellow (all of Rembrandt’s incredible lighting effects are done with that pigment) that is still backordered at Natural Pigments (http://www.naturalpigments.com/) in California, from which I buy most of my tubes for this project. I think this company’s main market is restorers. That maybe explains why they only sell small 40ml tubes. Orpiment is also an interesting yellow. But it’s sold only in 20ml jars and it’s basically arsenic. So, I decided long ago not to leave my rags everywhere for my dogs to chew!
The earth pigments we have today (yellow ocher, raw and burnt Sienna, raw and burnt Umber, green earth and the blacks such as ivory and carbon black) are basically synthetic versions of older natural pigments that were dug up in specific areas or made from burning bones or wood. Because I found that natural pigments are so expensive and sold only in small tubes, I decided to use the more affordable contemporary versions of these colors, considering that the colors do not differ and that I would need a lot of those colors to paint the backgrounds in my portraits.
I guess that’s enough of the cooking lesson for now! I’ll focus more on the meaning of the portraits and my stylistic approach in a later post.
Before ending, I have to mention the wonderful work my husband is doing right now and that is parallel to mine. You can see below that he brings the same approach to framing than the one I have in painting, incorporating elements of traditional woodcarving to create works that both revere and twist the tradition. It will be quite exciting to see, in the end, the portraits and frames coming together and to see how they influence each other.
See El Greco, one of the first portraits of that series, by clicking here.
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