I wanted to send a dear friend a photo of a work I made long ago. I had the slide digitalized and I thought, why not have one made of a big slide of my ‘DISTURBING YELLOW’, a 200 X 300 cm diptych made in 1990…

It triggered the look back.

I had a nice studio in Amsterdam.

In 1987 I participated in the dance production ‘QUADERNA’. I painted on stage, first the scenery, the back drop during the performance (on the photo left you see them stacked against the wall), I ran up and down the stage, bothered the dancers and in the end I painted them. It is the only theatrical experience I had, it was BIG FUN.

Could I have known that my daughter went to all these ballet classes? So father so daughter? Not really (photo made much later).

After the performances of 'QUADERNA' I had about 8 or 10 sort of canvasses of 275 high and 125 wide if I remember well. So I thought of BIG STUFF. Twice I made a triptych in 1988. Both ended in private collections in Milan, Italy.

‘BIG FOOT’ (with me in front)

‘TOWARDS THE FIRE’

In 1989 I continued to paint BIG. First was the triptych ‘THE PRAYING MANTIS’.

Followed by:

‘THE KITES’

and

‘THE THREE BROTHERS’

size 200 X 300 cm.

These three paintings were finished around 1990. All were sold during my solo show at Jaski Art Gallery. And then I made 'DISTURBING YELLOW', exposed and sold during my solo show at Gallery Langenberg.

I moved to New York where new adventures awaited me. I made the series ‘MY METROPOLIS’ and got the idea for the ‘FALLEN ANGELS’ amongst others. (Click on the grey words to go to the texts)

Time passed by. I went back to Amsterdam and ended up in Barcelona where for the last twenty years I have been living (with an interruption). One happy and BIG reason for me to live here is to be near to Gala. I painted her portrait in 2022.

Portraits… Soon I will bring three portraits to clients in London.

A month ago I started a FLOWER painting but found out that my mood looks in another direction: to that same old way of working in the nineties, but a bit smaller in size because my studio doesn’t really allow me to make real BIG STUFF.

Currently I am working on ‘FIESTA 03’. I am letting it jump from one loose thought to the other. Hoping to get in touch with deeper layers of my subconscious. Do I have something to tell? I should have enough craftsmanship to go back and forth from uncontrolled wildness to reason, giving the unexpected its role to play. Art is about controlled chaos.

And now for the BIG SURPRISE:

Here is the new ANGEL of the BIG SCREEN…

The show must go on… with the NEW GENERATION!

(about the chanson: sorry for me being a bit sentimental)

In my sketchbooks I experiment, follow unexpected thoughts, play, make fun of and get inspired by the art of others.

An artist I admire, but who sometimes went the easy way, made sort of caricaturist ‘imitations’ of his own works was Alberto Giacometti. Success can be dangerous. The Dutch saying: ‘The legs that can carry the wealth are strong’.

Apart from the (above) lesser works made on a lazy Sunday afternoon (I cannot escape the thought that not always he took things very serious), I guess there are also many fake Giacomettis to be seen in the various museums (click on the grey 'fake Giacomettis' to go to the text  and then especially the part about Drew and Myatt of the BBC documentary). There’s really nothing to it; consequently I'd love to make fake Giacomettis.

Example is my joke: ‘Diego portrayed by Frans Hals’.

Diego: 'Looks just like me!'

For those not familiar with the works of Alberto Giacometti; he made many portraits of his brother Diego. On the left you see the two and on the right a photo of a portrait of Diego being made by Alberto.

And then there is my sketch ’BLIND LADY IN PINK’, sort of made in the same style, but with more ‘Bert flavor’. Or is it the other way round? Did Giacometti try to imitate me?

Of course Giacometti didn’t try to imitate me. For two reasons; one: he is dead and two: he would never have tried to imitate an unknown artist and/or admitted that.

I notice that lately I have been criticizing quite a number of heroes in my writings/blogs.

I don’t care about reputations so when I look at a painting, it is the work that counts not who made it (and this can have nasty consequences; keep on reading).

What astonishes me is that quite some important art critics and other professionals in the field fall for fame and reputation and turn a blind eye when confronted with a piece of art that sucks but is made by a famous artist. It may seem reassuring, if made by a genius it must be great. But I try to stay away from that admiration. It doesn’t help me with my own work and I cannot help but feeling a fool if I defend a work that I find sucks.

I try to keep on looking at/doubting my own work. I have the luxury not to be famous, not to be surrounded by a crowd of blind fans.

painter on stage: ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.'

For famous artists there are several traps they can walk into:

Self admiration: I am famous, so all I do is great also because the public wants to pay much for it. Like the drawings of Giacometti above, maybe he gave them away, maybe they were stolen, maybe he thought they were touched by his genius.

Andy Warhol cleverly walked around it. He declared himself to be the piece of art so everything he signed was genius (think about his piss paintings, he let somebody else wee over the canvasses but he signed them, so everything goes).

It just gave me an idea! If I am not mistaken, Barceló made a series of portraits by throwing acids on zinc plates. He could try to make them by peeing on the plates too (always nice to give a fellow artist a new idea)!

The art market: once famous, the art market can poison the artists mind, money can be made, loads of money, trust me!

Not every day is your day and you have to learn too: you can think that you made something great, but can discover a month/year later that this was not true… and when it is already sold: oops!

The false idea to have to fit everything in one or your style: some time ago an art collector/agent told me that he was confused, found half of my stuff totally uninteresting so he didn’t feel like working with me. This is such a ridiculous way of reasoning, why not go for what you like, trust your own judgement. If the artist makes paintings in a different style too, who cares. Sometimes artists make works with the weirdest motives.

The only artist I can think of that worked in two different styles at the same time and was totally accepted or even better admired for it was Picasso.

It was a bit his trade mark and the times were right for it. Still, mostly it is not appreciated.

This brought me to the common pathetic idea that a great or famous artist should automatically be a great human being. And that art makes you a better person! This is why I don't believe in art therapy.

Watch out when you meet a great artist!

The examples are many, just think of Richard Wagner, Caravaggio, Luis Ferdinand Céline, José de Ribera, Mario Sironi, Micheal Jackson, Pablo Picasso, Jackson Pollock, Carl André, Virginia Woolf, Paul Gauguin, Benvenuto Cellini, Chuck Berry, Miles Davis, Francis Bacon, Patricia Highsmith, Emil Nolde, Ezra Pound, Rimbaud, Edgar Degas, Herman Nitsch, Bernardo Bertolucci (here think about the famous scene with butter in 'Last tango in Paris'), to name a few… The list in endless.

And of course: Adolf Hitler. If only he would have succeeded as a painter…

This is why I have so many doubts about the new morals that are being asked from the artists of today. Will it destroy the arts? Will we have a better world anyway?

One can only hope that a genius artist is a dull and boring nobody…

Q: ‘What if I made a wrote a horny biography about you?’ A: ‘But I am such a boring copy of my work.’

My mind wandered off from Giacometti to… should I kill or rape somebody soon? Will that make me a better artist? Should I just be a good soul during the weekend?

Or do 'you reap just what you sow' even if you are a great artist?

Sunday is the perfect day to visit exhibitions and museums. Last Sunday I saw the exhibition of Antonio López Garcia at the Pedrera. He is considered one of Spain's greatest living realistic painters.

Initially I was very impressed, but that turned into amazement here and there and I was even a bit shocked at times. Reputations mean nothing to me, the works that tell me what to think, not what others say about the artist. I was very charmed by a few of the works shown painted in the late fifties. 'Cabeza griega y vestido azul' was especially beautiful and exciting.

At first glance it appears to have been meticulously painted, but after some time it became apparent that the head was painted rather chaotically, and it was not correct around the nose. The cylinder on which the head sits is also incorrect. The shadow on the hatch is far from right.

Just like Cézanne he pushes and pulls on what he sees before him, only more subtle and less wooden. A painting is a painting, it is an interpretation. Delicious. Also striking were the construction lines drawn here and there in pencil.
Then there is the flame without a candle. But what surprised me were the pieces of paper stuck here and there, fragments of photos. Why?

I loved another painting made in the same period, 'Espíritu del Arte', because of the two images painted over each other.

Maria opening a door, a candle floating in the street and also a glass with flowers.
In a painting everything is possible if it is done well (what is that, well done?), it is believable just as dreams can be believable.

His black and white pencil drawings of interiors are beautiful. And then I stumbled on 'La Cena' (1980), a famous work of his.

See the left image. Precisely and sketchy painted alternate in a fascinating way. The head on the right bothers me, it is too out of balance. In an interview he told that he couldn't really figure it out the sizes and placing but was too tired to continue working. Not a good excuse.
But what really bothered me were the piece of meat and the apple. These are two pasted photos...
If you are honored for your inimitable realistic style, why do you make it so easy with photos? It's a betrayal to my eyes.

I noticed several times that he uses photos (he will project them on his canvases). I have no objection to that. Read 'Secret knowledge' by David Hockney, see Tim's Vermeer'. It becomes very clear with López when you see him in a few works, shaving in the bathroom and sitting on the toilet bowl.
In some works the lines are curved due to the use of a wide-angle lens and very funny, in one of the last works shown there is a mirrored text (?). Then why all these visible construction lines? He will of course work half and half, half in the studio and half on the spot looking at the subject. Especially when working on large canvases.

Who knows, maybe that form of half-heartedness actually makes his works exciting.
I admire the patience with which he creates his cityscapes, even though they become somewhat soulless here and there. Technically very clever, yes.

I remain silent about his sculptures. I also looked at his wife's paintings on the internet. She remains somewhat in his shadow. Her work has many similarities with his.

On to the MNAC, the national museum of Catalonia. The temporary exhibition there is about the years of and after the Second World War and the depiction of people in that period. At that exhibition 'Quina humanitat, la figura humana després de la guerra (1940-1960)', one painting stood out for me.
I know the work of Antoni Clavé, but he is such a painter who became trapped in his own style and way of working.

I had to move country once again and so I gave the books about his work to a friend. Maybe I should have torn out a few pages with the four works that I really like... In the MNAC, however, his 'Crist de Alba de Tormes' jumped off the wall. What a work!

He scraped away a lot of paint and that reflects the lifeless nature of Jesus' body so well. Actually, only the Isenheim altarpiece of the dead Jesus on the cross came to mind. And I still need to see that one!

Of course there is Holbein's 'Dead body of Christ', but still...

There was Henry Moore's 'Falling Warrior'. The tension in the sculpture due to the soldier's body not touching the ground reminded me of the sculpture 'Le Silence' by Nat Neujean. A sculptor I greatly admire and from whom I learned a lot. Not only in terms craftsmanship, but also his perseverance and total dedication to his work. He showed me 'Le sSilence' and said that because the figure had been tortured he could not keep his foot on the ground because of the pain.

Nat made the portrait of Henry Moore, but was not very impressed by the sculptor… oh well…

Another image that touched me was 'L'Orge' by Germaine Richier. I am too young to have experienced the years immediately after the Second World War, but I can imagine the grayness of that time.

Picasso's sketch was a surprise. Sometimes I think he was stronger in his drawings.

The works closer to the sixties became increasingly meaningless to me. Long live 'creativity', 'playfulness'... Cute, but it didn't do much for me. I visited the Stedelijk Museum too often in the seventies and eighties. Shame.

On to the museum's permanent collection. I always salute Josep Gimenez. A seriously underrated painter. The MNAC has a few works by him and I have searched several times for a decent catalog but have never found one.

This beautiful bust made by Rodin is near the self-portrait of Gimenez.

Next stop: Hermen Anglada Camarasa. One of the two large female portraits is still (I hope) being restored. Here I show two of the three small paintings in another room. I cannot escape the impression that he, living in the time of the bohemians, must have used morphine to create these kinds of atmospheres in these works. I read that he is compared to Klimt; I find his work more interesting, more painterly.

And then the wonderful female portrait by Romà Ribera. What a beautiful use of that glowing undertone.

'Salida del baile' also has that glow.

I walked 'back in time', started with the latest era.
It was closing time, unfortunately.

I would like to show two more works. But more as a curiosity than as remarkable or beautiful. First of all, 'La dama del xal de puntes' by Adolf Münzer...

Long ago my grandfather (a furniture maker) went to a world exhibition to get ideas. He had bought catalogs and because I loved drawing so much, they were given to me after his death. This was in the sixties and we were squeamish. In one of these catalogs I saw naked women for the first time! Painted, but still. One of the images was of this lady.

Finally, there is the ornament, the 'Capitel amb la alegoria de la fotografia'. In 1900, the architect Puig i Cadafalch designed the house for the Amatller family. It was the period of many inventions, including photography. To celebrate this, Eusebi Arnau made this capital.

For years I thought that the name Kodak had to do with the sound these first cameras made, but alas. I am once again deprived of an illusion, Kodak comes from Nodak, as the cameras were initially to be called after their place of origin: North Dakota. The better sounding Kodak was chosen…

To eat and drink away my sadness (I'm lying here of course) I walked to the restaurant close to the MNAC. 'La Foixarda' has changed owner and is now called 'Petit Hipica'. The food is ok, what matters to me is the location. A lunch on a sun-drenched Sunday afternoon, a worthy ending.

As an accompanying video I chose 'THE GREAT GATE OF KIEV' by Mussorgsky, very bitter when you think of the title of the exhibition in the MNAC and these times...

Zondag is de perfecte dag om tentoonstellingen en musea te bezoeken. Afgelopen zondag zag ik de tentoonstelling van Antonio López Garcia in de Pedrera.

Hij wordt gezien als een van de grootste realistische nog levende schilders van Spanje. Aanvankelijk was ik zeer onder de indruk, maar dat veranderde hier en daar in verbazing en ik was soms zelfs wat geschokt. Reputaties zeggen me niets, het zijn de werken die me vertellen wat te denken, niet wat anderen over de kunstenaar beweren.

Ik was zeer gecharmeerd van een paar getoonde werken geschilderd in de laat vijftiger jaren. Vooral ‘Cabeza griega y vestido azul’ was mooi en spannend.

Bij eerste aanblik lijkt het minutieus geschilderd, maar na enige tijd viel op dat de kop nogal chaotisch geschilderd is, rond de neus klopt het niet. Ook de cilinder waarop de kop staat is incorrect. De schaduw op het luik klopt zelfs van geen kant.

Zoals ook Cézanne duwt en trekt aan wat hij voor zich ziet, alleen subtieler en minder houterig. Een schilderij is een schilderij, het is niet de werkelijkheid, het is een interpretatie. Heerlijk. Wat verder opviel waren de hier en daar nog met potlood getekende constructielijnen.

Dan is er de vlam zonder kaars. Maar wat me verbaasde zijn de hier en daar opgeplakte papiertjes, fragmenten van foto’s. Waarom?

Een ander in diezelfde periode gemaakt schilderij ‘Espíritu del Arte’ vond ik prachtig vanwege de twee over elkaar geschilderde afbeeldingen.

Maria een deur openend, een kaars zwevend in de straat en ook een glas met bloemen.

In een schilderij kan alles als het goed gedaan is (wat is dat; goed gedaan?), is het geloofwaardig zoals ook dromen geloofwaardig kunnen zijn.

Zijn met potlood gemaakte zwart-wit tekeningen van interieurs zijn schitterend. En toen viel ik op ‘La Cena’ (1980), een beroemd werk van hem.

Zie de linker afbeelding. Af en onaf wisselen elkaar op een fascinerende manier af. Toch stoort mij het hoofd rechts; het is teveel uit balans. In een interview zegt hij er over dat hij er niet echt goed uitkwam en te moe was om aan het werk door te gaan.

Maar wat me echt stoorde waren het stuk vlees en de appel. Het zijn twee opgeplakte foto’s…

Als je geëerd wordt om je onnavolgbare realistische stijl, waarom maak je je er dan zo gemakkelijk af met foto’s? Het is mijn ogen verraad.

Verder viel het me meerdere malen op dat hij foto’s gebruikt (hij zal die projecteren op zijn doeken). Op zich heb ik daar geen enkel bezwaar tegen. Lees ‘Secret knowledge’ van David Hockney, zie Tim’s Vermeer’. Het wordt bij López duidelijk als je in een paar werken hem zelf ziet, zich scherend in de badkamer en zittend op de wc-pot. In sommige werken lopen de lijnen krom vanwege het gebruik van een groothoeklens en heel grappig, in een van de laatst getoonde werken staat een tekst in spiegelbeeld (?). Alles heel in orde, maar waarom dan al die zichtbare constructielijnen? Hij zal natuurlijk half en half werken, half in de studio en half ter plekke kijkend naar het onderwerp. Zeker als het om grote doeken gaat.

Wie weet maakt die vorm van halfslachtigheid zijn werken juist spannend.

Al met al heb ik bewondering voor het engelengeduld waar hij zijn stadsgezichten mee maakt, maar soms vind ik ze wat zielloos. Technisch zeer knap, dat wel.

Over zijn beelden zwijg ik. Ook heb ik op internet naar de schilderijen van zijn vrouw gekeken. Ze blijft een beetje in de schaduw van hem. Haar werk heeft veel overeenkomsten met het zijne.

Op naar het MNAC, het rijksmuseum van Catalonië. De tijdelijke tentoonstelling aldaar gaat over de jaren van en de eerste na de Tweede Wereldoorlog en de afbeelding van mensen in die periode. Op die tentoonstelling ‘Quina humanitat, la figura humana després de la guerra (1940-1960)’ sprong er voor mij een schilderij uit.

Ik ken het werk van Antoni Clavé, maar het is zo’n schilder die gevangen raakte in zijn eigen stijl, manier van werken.

Ik moest weer eens verhuizen en toen heb ik de boeken over zijn werk aan een vriend gegeven. Misschien had ik een paar bladzijden met de vier werken die ik echt mooi vond er uit moeten scheuren…

In het MNAC echter sprong zijn ‘Crist de Alba de Tormes’ van de wand. Wat een doek!

Hij schraapte veel verf weer weg en dat geeft het ontzielde van het lichaam van Jezus zo goed weer. Mij schoot eigenlijk alleen het Isenheimer altaarstuk van de dode Jezus aan het kruis te binnen. En dat moet ik nog steeds gaan zien!

Natuurlijk ook het ‘Dead body of Christ’ van Holbein, maar toch…

En dan was er de ‘Falling Warrior’ van Henry Moore. De spanning die er in het beeld zit omdat de soldaat de grond met zijn lichaam niet raakt deed me denken aan het beeld ‘Le Silence’ van Nat Neujean. Een door mij zeer bewonderde beeldhouwer van wie ik veel heb geleerd. Niet alleen voor wat betreft zijn vakmanschap, maar ook zijn doorzettingsvermogen en totale toewijding aan zijn werk. Hij toonde mij 'Le silence' en vertelde dat omdat de figuur gemarteld was hij zijn voet niet op de grond hield vanwege de pijn.

Nat heeft ooit het portret van Henry Moore gemaakt, maar was niet erg onder de indruk van de beeldhouwer… tja…

Nog een beeld dat mij raakte was ‘L’Orge’ van Germaine Richier. Ik ben te jong om de jaren direct na de Tweede Wereldoorlog mee te hebben gemaakt, maar de grauwheid van die tijd kan ik mij voorstellen.

Een verassing was de schets van Picasso. Soms denk ik dat hij sterker was in zijn tekeningen.

De werken meer richting de zestiger jaren werden voor mij steeds betekenislozer. Lang leve de ‘creativiteit’, de ‘speelsheid’. Schattig, maar het deed me weinig. Ik heb te vaak door het Stedelijk Museum gelopen in de zeventiger en tachtiger jaren. Jammer.

Op naar de vaste collectie van het museum. Ik groet altijd Josep Gimenez. Een zwaar ondergewaardeerde schilder. Het MNAC heeft een paar werken van hem en ik ben meerdere malen op zoek gegaan naar een fatsoenlijke catalogus maar heb die nooit gevonden.

In de buurt van zijn zelfportret is ook deze prachtige buste gemaakt door Rodin.

Door naar Hermen Anglada Camarasa. Een van de twee grote vrouwenportretten wordt nog steeds (hoop ik) gerestaureerd. Ik toon hier twee van de drie kleine schilderijtjes in een andere zaal. Ik kan niet ontkomen aan de indruk dat hij, levende in de tijd van de bohemiens, morfine moet hebben gebruikt om tot dit soort sferen te komen in deze werken. Ik las dat hij vergeleken wordt met Klimt; ik vind zijn werk interessanter, schilderkunstiger.

En dan het heerlijke vrouwenportret van Romà Ribera. Wat een prachtig gebruik van die gloeiende ondertoon.

Ook ‘Salida del baile’ heeft die gloed.

Ik liep ‘terug in de tijd’, was begonnen bij de nieuwste tijd.

Het liep tegen sluitingstijd, helaas.

Nog twee werken wil ik laten zien. Maar meer als curiositeit dan als opmerkelijk of mooi. Allereerst ‘La dama del xal de puntes’ van Adolf Münzer..

Ooit was mijn opa (een meubelmaker) naar een wereldtentoonstelling gegaan om ideeën op te doen. Hij had daar catalogi gekocht en omdat ik zo van tekenen hield werden die na zijn overlijden aan mij gegeven. Het waren de zestiger jaren en we waren preuts. In een van die catalogi zag ik voor het eerst naakte vrouwen! Weliswaar geschilderd, maar toch. Een van de afbeeldingen was van deze dame.

Als laatste is er het ornament, het ‘Capitel amb la alegoria de la fotografia’. In 1900 ontwierp de architect Puig i Cadafalch het huis voor de familie Amatller. Het was de tijd van de vele uitvindingen waaronder de fotografie. Om dat te vieren maakte Eusebi Arnau dit kapiteel.

Ik heb jaren gedacht dat de naam Kodak te maken had met het geluid dat die eerste camera’s maakten, maar helaas. Ik ben weer een illusie armer, Kodak komt van Nodak, zoals de camera’s aanvankelijk zouden worden genoemd naar de plaats van herkomst: North Dakota. Er werd gekozen voor het beter klinkende Kodak…

Om mijn verdriet weg te eten en drinken (ik lieg hier natuurlijk) ben ik naar het dicht bij het MNAC liggende restaurant gelopen. ‘La Foixarda’ is in andere handen over gegaan en heet nu ‘Petit Hipica’. Het eten is ok, het gaat mij om de locatie. Een lunch op een zonovergoten zondagmiddag, een waardige afsluiting.

Als begeleidende video heb ik gekozen voor 'DE GROTE POORT VAN KIEV' van Mussorgsky, erg wrang als je denkt aan de titel van de tentoonstelling in het MNAC en het nu...

PARENTS

Next year I will surpass my mother in age. My father I surpassed long ago.

After the moment that my mother passed away, there was nobody left 'to show me the way' anymore. I think that this partly made me move to New York. Go West! Build a new life! Of course there was another reason too. 

Two of my aunts moved to the States to live with their American heroes right after World War II. I went there to live with my heroine. Looking back; she is one of those rare people who combines toughness with a poetic view, the capacity to materialize it, turn it into visual poetry. Under a granite shield there is so much generosity, compassion and love. Even though we often disagreed, I still admire her very much. It was fundamental for me that my daughter met her.

A beautiful reason to go West, but in the end it didn't work out. No regrets, I had a crazy one and a half year in the Big Apple.

The idea that I will be older than both of my parents is strange. In my mind they are still the adults, I their son. When older am I thus wiser? Do I look as old as they?

In my mind my parents are still the adults, I their son.

This year my mother would have turned a hundred years and my father hundred and two…

My father had problems with his health, but I could see my mother still walking around. Untill the last five months she was very active. In June of 1990 I went with her for a short holidays to France, we had to run to catch the subway. She passed away in November of the same year. To read the story, click on the images of my parents above. 

THE ARTS

There also is another memorable moment. I started to take painting and drawing serious 49 years ago.

What was the case… after high school I went to a school to become a cabinet maker. This choice was inspired by my grandfather from my mothers side. He was a cabinet maker, a very good one. I wrote about him and what eventually made me become a painter instead.

At school I made this imitation Hepplewhite cabinet. Now I have it at home after all the moves… Click on the cabinet below to go to the text about my grandfather and why I became a painter.

I never worked as a cabinet maker, but what I learned there has come in handy many times.

In my apartment in carrer del Comerç I built a scaffolding. And I have put many things on wheels. Soon I will make a scaffolding in Galas room.

Back to the old days. During my studies at the cabinetmaker school I had much spare time. I didn’t need to follow courses in Dutch and other not to furniture related disciplines. I decided to follow an evening course for becoming an art teacher. The teaching part didn’t really attract me, but it gave me the basis for moving into the arts.

My first decent drawing I made in 1974. So that is 49 years ago.

The great luck I had was that I followed portrait drawing classes given by a very severe teacher, mr. Hunt. He taught me more than anybody else afterwards.

If he would have lived today he would have immediately been fired. He told you the truth, crude and direct… he taught me humility and the readiness to destroy all if one detail doesn’t work.

I have given classes myself (didn’t really like it) and encountered the problem of not being able to tell a student that what she did was a worthless mess. She would have run away insulted and I needed the money. The poor woman thinks she is a painter whereas she just fills in the shapes she drew poorly like a jigsaw puzzle. And she followed an art academy… It shows that too often art teachers are failed painters.

The excuse for not being able to know how to paint or teach about painting? All now is so much about being creative as an excuse to draw like a miserable clown. At the academies students are considered artists, creative clowns in a desert… some even became famous.

And then one has to be politically correct... just think about Picasso, Caravaggio, Ribera or Jackson Pollock... such sad evil macho clowns. Yet admired much, strange...

After my studies to become a cabinet maker I went to and finished the art academy (I have a diploma in painting, can you believe that?) and went to Italy with a scholarship. At the academy where they sent me they taught the same garbage that so called gave wings to your ‘freed soul’.

In the end I painted in a studio of a friend, not bothered by the stupid comments of my fellow students and teachers. And once again, click on the images below to read about my Italian years.

The three years in Italy changed me completely. Amsterdam was not the center of the world anymore. Ever since I have looked abroad.

After Florence came New York and Barcelona. In between there was Amsterdam.

I tried the Netherlands recently, it was great. I lived there for two and a half years but had to move from my little paradise.

I couldn’t find a decent house and studio so I am back in Barcelona. I have to thank one person very, very much for having given me this nice new home.

I never cared much about making money, I don’t understand money. Sometimes it even scares me, feeling like a proud bohemian. I am beginning to understand what painting is about.

HOME

So in Barcelona is the new home. Home is where the heart is and my daughter lives here. Furthermore home is where I can work well. I have a great studio.

I lost the feeling of being Dutch. My roots are there, so certain ways of looking at life and habits I will never loose. But it is not necessary to have Amsterdam as an anchor. Click on the image to go to a video showing Amsterdam in the sixties.

I have become lazy, most books I read, I read in Dutch (sorry, not the fun book below). But I drink espresso and tonight I make a spaghetti alla carbonara.

I think that thanks to my age I look more inside. I know better what is important in my work and life. I have tried many different styles and ended up painting in one or three different ones. That is for the others to decide. And my morals… I am not eager to discover other cultures anymore, new ways of looking at life. I want to deepen more than expand. I have accepted to be western European in my thoughts.

PARADISE, THE NEXT STOP?

Long ago I had a dream, one day I hoped to lay in my hammock between two olive trees, a glass of wine in the hand and remembering all the crazy adventures, crazy people. Remembering friends that are not around anymore...

In the garden I have a hammock. I have lost so many great people on the way. But the time to look back has to wait. I still have some more paintings down my sleeve...

I considered to move to Italy. People who know me well know that Italy has a special place in my heart. Italian is still my second language. When I am there I feel at home. So why didn’t I move there?

It has to do with my look on life. As a follower of Schopenhauer I find that life is mostly suffering and boredom with the occasional high.

That I am so addicted to painting is because there I can force my highs. If it wasn’t for painting I would be a hopeless alcoholic.

Another thing that helps is dreaming. This is why I buy lottery tickets. Of course I hope to win big, but what essentially makes me buy them is to fantasize about my great house in Rome or Polignano a Mare. I sleep well.

And I know too well that the realization of my dreams might become a disillusion. Apart from the problems of not finding a good plumber and so on, I would be forced to create a new dream. AND I MUST ADMIT: THE HOUSE WHERE I LIVE NOW IS ACTUALLY QUITE A DREAM.

All is perfect. Barcelona looks a bit like Rome, but is not, the weather is great, the fish at the market is amazingly good, I have found the perfect place to buy coffee. Only problem for now is that I can’t find guanciale for the spaghetti alla carbonara.

In the meantime I sing along with the great Ramses Shaffy. Now he was a real bohemian!

For years I had problems with blue, found it a difficult color. My range went mostly from red to green. Was that because of my anger as a source of inspiration?

I ‘conquered’ blue in 1989. Whenever I look for a past painting with a ‘celestial blue’ to ‘copy’, I look at ‘SPIT AND RAIN 02’.

A nice mysterious blue moving towards turquoise (I refer to the top blue).

I used blue as a background color. Obvious: skies… the first time blue took the center stage was with the morning glory flowers and the blue morpho butterflies… to know that the blue of the butterfly isn’t a color, but some kind of a reflection...

Click on the image to go to the explanation.

But these blues were a lot more violent...

With the irises I never found a good flower with a straight forward blue color, let alone a celestial blue. When blue, they have a simple shape and are quite small. Not very adventurous…

Some that I painted were purple or blue/pink, but none blue-blue… the beauty of the irises I find is that they are so over the top, almost vulgar.

Not long ago I received a commission for a painting with blue irises… I was working on one with sort of purple/pink irises. I decided to show the not yet finished painting to the client and proposed to push the colors more towards blue… sometimes you have to help nature a bit.

This is the blue/pink one finished: FLOWER 064.

click on the image to go to the painting on the site.

I finished the commission too and will show it to the client in October. It has to stay a secret so I cannot show that painting here.

MORE BLUE

I am re-re-working a painting where it is the background again. I am looking for a led purple blue, like a sky that predicts a thunder storm.

In 1989 I was on Sicily, visited the ‘Cretto di Burri’ monument just before a thunderstorm broke out. That contrast between the poisonous led blue and the creamy white I will never forget. It was overwhelming… here a photo of the ‘Cretto’, but with a normal blue sky. If ever you have the chance to see the ‘Cretto’, don’t miss it!

Click on the image for explanation.

(I have to make a side step. Earth quakes… Morocco…

My memories all go back to Italy. On November 23, 1980 I witnessed the earth quake in Naples from far. Furthermore I realized there that the ground we walk on is not at all secure. Read my blog ‘VULCANO 003, Turners dream’.

Click on the blue word to go to the blog.

We may think we are the rulers of the world, but when the earth shows its power… I also realized this reading ‘THE SKIN’ by Curzio Malaparte. We are at war and then a volcano coughs...).

Back to blue. My painting with a thunderstorm sky is finished:

click on the image to go to the painting on the site.

It gives the right tension to the painting ‘BIRD OF PREY 002’.

Not much of an angel, this bird…

While writing I listen to ‘Lonely Angel’ by Pëteris Vasks. I know, it is music, but how beautiful (and celestial?)… Listen to the video below.

BULLS

Two things make me wonder… I moved back to Barcelona and a gallery owner who didn’t know I was back in town (I had not heard from him in a very long time) ordered a bull painting.

In the Netherlands I had sort of moved away from bulls; they are not as present in that culture as here. Will there be a revival of the bulls? Barcelona Bulls?

I cannot show the new bull in this blog, it might be finished, but I have to put it away for a week. Then, with a fresh and new look, I will decide if the bull in this state survives. The client asked for a painting in the style of ‘BULL 058' (2014): light, passion and movement.

BUTTERFLIES

Second strange coincidence happened right after the move. Old works reappeared from storage, amongst them ‘MISS SAIGON’.

I made this work for the Scheveningen Circus theatre where in 1996 the musical ‘MISS SAIGON’ played. That musical is a more up to date version of ‘MADAME BUTTERFLY’ hence my butterflies… I hung it in Gala’s room (she loves musicals).

And then I finished ‘FIESTA 002, ‘BLOOD BUTTERFLIES’. The butterflies appeared in that work before I moved.

Click on the image to go to the painting and details on the site.

My fascination with butterflies dates back to 1995. In Germany I wanted to buy a winter coat, came home in the same old and too thin coat, but with a beautiful stuffed butterfly bought in a museum.

That’s what happens when you love colors and light. Butterflies look like intangible dots of color. In the text ‘LIGHT’  I talk about it.

Click on the butterfly to go to the blog.

In ‘FIESTA 002, BLOOD BUTTERFLIES’ I tried to give the butterflies a reference to a more physical presence by adding the word ‘blood’.

So it’s bulls and butterflies again? Is Barcelona to blame?

FROM NETHERLANDS TO SPAIN, WHAT DID I BRING WITH ME?

A friend asked me about the impact that Utrecht or the Netherlands had had on my work. I lived there for only two and half a years. Apart from the bulls moving more to the background, it may have been my ever bigger fascination with light. I visited the exhibition of Vermeer twice.

See blog by clicking on the image below.

Vermeer I saw in Amsterdam, Utrecht was the city of the Caravaggisti.

But does that count? We are talking about Caravaggio! The Utrecht women then? Even this girl could not make me stay…

Click on her breasts to go to read about them.

There is the Rietveld Schröderhuis, that I visited twice.

Still much has to be done to make the house here my home, but no Rietveld style for me! Even if I studied at the Rietveld Academy.

And again, coincidence? The guide in the house studied in Gerona with a friend of mine through whom I met the woman that made me move to Barcelona. The mother of my daughter. HELP! Life is one big trip (In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida).

In 2007 I made a sketch after the self portrait of Rembrandt that is to be found in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna.

I knew it long before I saw it for real from a book I have.

In Florence (1980) I bought three books: one about Edvard Munch, one about Picasso and one about Rembrandt.

These were the days I felt quite a bohemian.

But a real bohemian I wasn’t, I have not followed their nine commandments found in the book about Munch:

Thou shalt write thine own life.
Thou shalt sever thy family roots.
Thou cannot treat thy parents badly enough.
Thou shalt never smite thy neighbor for less than five crowns.
Thou shalt hate and despise all farmers, such as Bjørnstjerne Bjømson.
Thou shalt never wear celluloid cuffs.
Neglect not to make a scandal in the Cristiania Theater.
Thou shalt never repent.
Thou shalt take thine own life.

That I went for Munch may have had to do with Pieter, a friend from the academy. We talked a lot about art and he had a Norwegian girlfriend. He jumped of the roof of his apartment one sad bad day. His first and last bohemian deed…

I am walking in the wrong direction, wrong memories… Let’s go back to the book about Rembrandt.

On one of the first pages there is this detail of the self portrait. I find it one of his most beautiful self portraits. The frailty, the doubt, the self questioning is so present. Seeing it for real was a feast.

In the sketch made in 2007 I concentrated on the face. Apart from his shirt I sketched with white gouache, white Uni Posca marker and black ink.

For years I did not dare to repeat, it just looked too good. I felt it had ‘escaped’ me. There are these days that my hand flies way over my head and shows me landscapes I could not dream of.

And then I made this sketch after Velazquez some time ago… I had sketched that head more than once, so Rembrandt called me… I had to give it another try:

size: 15 x 10 cm.

I know, it is soaked in browns, ochres and blacks. A friend once said that Rembrandt is all that brown and darkness. She doesn't like his paintings. But isn't that like saying the violin concerto in D major of Brahms has a lot of violins… true, true, but…

Here's a detail:

And then there is the portrait of the woman with the ostrich feather fan. Seen only 5 times… and sketched once. I consider this portrait another highlight in Rembrandts oeuvre. In 2004 I made the sketch. Here is the original (never mind the sketch). 

It triggered thoughts about mothers. I had been reading some poems; ‘Droom’ by Reve and ‘Moeder de vrouw’ by Nijhoff. They speak of the MOTHER.

Only mothers know what it is to be completely one with another soul. We poor men can only dream. Haven't met a pregnant man yet...

I can only get near by creating a false person, is that what I love about painting?

Here the image of the second time I copied that amazing portrait.

size 20,4 x 14,7 cm. 

Closer by, a detail.

The greatness of many of Rembrandts works lays in showing doubt, compassion, acceptance of whatever life gives. That I find too in the works of Velazquez and that amazing self portrait of Carel Fabritius (and Goya and...).

Fabritius was a student of Rembrandt. I copied that self portrait too. I gave it away to an actor friend. I play the good guy here, I play Fabritius, he loves to play bad guys…

size: 20 x 20 cm.

It is what I don’t like in the works of Picasso. There is never doubt or compassion. He said he didn’t search; he found.

True, but my tendency goes towards getting lost, get to the point where I almost give up and then the magic has the possibility to sneak in. It is a question of mentality. I don’t want to play the hero, the macho. I find that kind of hero a tragic and pathetic figure.

Listen to the adagio of the violin concert of Brahms as an extra. I love adagi as much as browns and ochres... 

Some portraits just don’t let me loose. I look at them time after time. I saw this one in the Metropolitan Museum in New York at least 15 times. It still leaves me speechless.

The simplicity is astounding and Velazquez gave his assistant in this portrait such dignity. As in so many other portraits made by him… How did he do that? I have the idea it has something to do with the painter’s soul... something that just appears in his works no matter what.

Long ago (at the academy) my art history teacher said that Velazquez made this portrait as an exercise for that other absolute portrait he made of the pope Innocenzio XI. Here it is:

When last September I was in Rome I could not have a good look at it, it was hung in an impossible place with crazy bad lighting. Sometimes… imagine you come all the way from New York to see it for the first time…

Of course I made a copy of that portrait too. This time only with only Uni Posca as material.

detail:

I am happy to have seen this portrait many, many times so I could concentrate on other great works of the collection of the Doria Pamphilj Gallery.

When I find the need to learn, to give myself a good exercise, I try to copy a masterpiece like this one in another technique. And in a small size!

Used materials: Uni Posca and black ink. These materials and size call for different solutions, I made the portrait more ‘crumbly’.

It is what painting for me is about. You need to make a believable image. Still it cannot be like a photographically image. You need to show this is not like the real world; it lives in a different world. But a world that is alive, vivid!

I tried to catch the same expression that Velazquez gave. The learning never stops…

detail one and two zoom in.

I have broken my teeth on this portrait more than once, but never did I go this far.

Here you see my hand with the sketch to have an idea about the size.

These sketches are not for sale; they are exercises.

They are like a chapter in my sketch blocks. On the site I show of these sketches and others every time you open the 'sketchbooks' a random selection of 24 out if the now 735. To go to the sketches, click on the grey word: site. If you have luck it may show up (or the other one)...

As an extra watch the video of the Postmodern Jukebox and Morgan James playing and singing 'Dream on' of Aerosmith in another style... go Morgan, go!!!

I am living in between… half of my stuff was forgotten by the movers, it will arrive next week.
So I correct some old sketches. This coming period I will concentrate more on light… the influence of having visited the Vermeer exhibition twice?

Isn’t it all actually about light? Well, my flowers are about light...

I picked out two sketches from film stills by night of the movie ‘En cas de malheur’ to study. Not only did the light complicate the representation because these are night scenes (no obvious shapes and extreme contrasts) but also I drew them in my sketchbooks, so the sizes are small. Any error shows like a big one.

Here and there I simplified the background. In case number one the hair of Brigitte Bardot gave me so much trouble… she has quite a lot of hair, by the way…

detail

In sketch number two I had to go even smaller. The whole sketch is not more than 15 x 10 centimeters.

detail (you can distinguish my fingerprints)

BB... in these sketches she doesn't really look like her; the images are too small to get all done well and I concentrated on something else. To take revenge, here she is in another one (made in 2018):

When I was little, France and of course people like BB were a myth (Read about it by clicking on the grey word France). 'La douce France' holds so much mystery.

And then the mind wanders off. These old French movies...

Not long ago I saw ‘Les choses de la vie’ (director: Claude Sautet. With Romy Schneider and Michel Piccoli) twice. I saw it on Netflix, hidden between all the violent movies, the stupid movies, the pathetic series it sparkled like a diamant on the HUGE PILE OF SHIT.

The scene that stuck right through my heart was when Romy Schneider said: ‘I am tired of loving you.’ Maybe I quote it wrong… And then there is the end… Unfortunately I cannot find the movie anymore.

Sure thing is that I will have to make some sketches after that movie….

On Spotify I have the chapter of 'movie music'. The first song is 'Le chanson de Hélène'. 
Click on the image to go to the song of 'Les choses de la vie'.

There are more songs from 'old movies': 'L'ascenseur pour l'echafaud' and 'Last tango in Paris' are amongst them. More sketches to be made?

P.S.: some days later and still waiting for the rest of my things, so I attacked an still of the movie 'Barry Lyndon', maybe the movie with the most amazing images ever, especially the night ones. Although I would not count out 'The third man'...