This journal entry is influenced by many things, amongst them Dutch Art.
Recently, I bought a few books on the Dutch Golden Age, some focusing on the historical overview and some on the art of the period. I recall that during my time at art college, studying art history (albeit superficially), I was struck by the unique interplay of religion, colonialism, and the political and economic structure of the republic, and the consequent influence on Dutch art that all of that had. In fact, reading about it now made me realise how deeply bourgeois I am myself. Individualism, protestant work ethics, moderation, tolerance, focus on the mundane and the immediate, and the merchant spirit – all of it is perfectly me!
When condensed into a single sentence, these qualities imply narrow-mindedness and mediocrity. However, among their products are telescopes and microscopes, Dutch painting, Spinoza’s philosophy, and Rembrandt’s masterpieces. So, moderation is not equal mediocrity. A sobering thought in the light of a more contemporary view of an artist’s life as an extreme sport. A liberating thought, too. Another permission to be myself, rather than trying to fit into a misconstrued idea of an artist that one tends to form under the influence of art-historian storytellers, who romanticise and sensationalise a few notorious examples.
I haven’t done much work this Summer — no time, as there was much life to live instead. There was falling in love, travelling a lot, for both fun and not, my mother’s death, and getting into playing sports. With all that as a backdrop, I thought (as always) about my art and where the hell to move with it, because making art to fill the shop’s walls and sell had become old and boring. Hence, stagnating. Hence, there is no energy in the pieces. Hence, they don’t sell. Then, something led me to my old blog posts. Raw and unpolished, they had sincerity, and depth, and search. This was art, or rather creativity, as a tool of self-reflection. And that is what I want back. Although I fleetingly wanted to revisit some particular artworks themselves, I immediately dropped that thought. Because the creative process is God, the artworks are idols.
Looking back at the old notes and the artworks was helpful in yet another way. I jump mediums, styles and genres, losing a thread of thought in the process. For a long time, there was no thread but a random assortment of dots. In hindsight, it became possible to make out a pattern. A few recurring themes – a window, a contrajour, a path. Preoccupation with light and distance, or say, with chiaroscuro and volume. Who am I? What do I want to express? How can I bring all the pieces together to tell a story? These questions reveal the goal: to produce mature work. In fact, a lot of it.
The work I produced since our last meeting in April: I finished a commission, drew a few portrait sketches while on a bus trip in Uzbekistan, painted three still-life paintings between various journeys, and yesterday recorded a brilliant idea for a future series of paintings.
