The art is the equilibrium in the time and in the space, of the artist's egoism, taken as act of creation, and outside to any rule, which are finite and imperfect, but his own sincerity and honesty, infinite and perfect, that's the art.
Who bores with 'Byron' enjoys comic books and who bores with comic books enjoys with 'Byron', c'est la vie! I cannot change my essence, even if I would, I can wear a mask and make you happy, if you wish to, but you're not watching at me and probably you never will, because you watch only what you are allowed to or want or can, see! Why could have somebody destroyed years of work like that? Well, those paintings represent something personal and temporal, the reality tat says something, because exploring the surface is halfway to wondering and contemplating the inside, a try to respect the form to exponentiate or making light on to the contains! Well, I am built in a way, because my habits or test or just because my nature, to distinguish, to put a net line between reality and imagination, truth an non truth, image and substance, a line that it shouldn't ever be crossed by or broken because the doing that would eventually lead to madness or to obsession and paranoia, which is a sort of disease, the 'mediocrity disease'. That line prevent to be like the one that goes stealing and killing in the morning and praying in the night to have the permission to steal and kill the morning after! Anyway words are often misinterpreted or misunderstood, usually anti conventional ideas or ideas contrasting with old ideologies or old concepts or subculture based system saturated class could be mistaken for 'magic or madness', I just don't believe how people goes 20 years to school, have the best jobs, and can't read! That's the funny part of it! In simple words if the music is the cause of death, well I'll rather kill the music! But sometimes a sacrifice could have had be done for a very simple and banal and stupid reason, like for love or to protect someone we care from an inevitable danger, and here, paradoxically because this is a passionate feeling, the reason take place on the heart and doesn't matter what, it would remain blind to all to those that represent an eventual danger, or treat to that beloved one.
The human being knowledge and intellect, in science, arts and literature has always produced similarity or parallels; it’s like the painting of great masters, it’s quite common the representation of a portrait, or a vase with flowers or a piece of ordinary life or a marine or countryside, landscape, but when we watch at them we know exactly who is a Picasso, who is a Van Gogh and who is a Monet.
Picasso, Van Gough, Monet, Rembrandt and so on cannot be compared, they are all equals, such paragon is a mere, political semantic or empty dialectics or an attempt to differentiate, conjecturally and conceptually, a race or an ethnic from an other, so at the end is a quite twisted, subdual and perverse tentative to teach an equation [or express intolerance and discrimination] which commune denominator is their own race or ethnics.
The bad fantasy is like a menacing weather. The same weather in the artistic point of view or sense or feeling or fantasy is dramatic.
The modern art which is the post war one or the post Picasso one does not represent the reality and the time any more, it's not enough, at least not any more, in the sense, enough to be considered 'modern', because the schemes and forms and styles of the art today are flattered. So, it must contain and communicate messages or be themselves a message, such as the human values like ideals, politics, justice, freedom, love and so on; so, more then just paintings, otherwise today the art will be banal anyway, no matter what is the form. So, wherever it is the art background, which means the society and culture and individual belonging, part of or resultant, it is mediocre or scarce or corrupted anyway. The art will not be able to send or communicate politics, justice, love, freedom messages, but instead, senseless or banal images. Anyway, the background will always transpire through this kind of art, no matter what. So, if the background is war, suffering, injustice, death; thee factor will be contained in the art anyway.
Even if I consider the blue phase of Picasso painting my favourite or his best works, the cubism's Picasso has its importance also, in fact is almost 40 years which this kind of style dominates the worldwide figurative arts and design hands, today and probably for many more years yet, cartoons will be based on the cubist Picasso’s lines and colors.
The fruit takes its own time to mature.
The work of art involve intelligence and clear knowledge of what is the reality, in all its aspects, as I said before if the heart is not the mind doesn't matter so if true it must be true the inverse formula, so that's what it is the main difference of work of art or master pieces and a ‘dilettante’ or sub-minor, where the technique is secondary, the thought, reasons and reality fruit of the intelligence come elaborated and then assembled as paintings, books, music sheet, that's the difference, art exist as long as exist a deep observation of the reality, and that's mean even the past and that's why they are called master pieces, but with the involvement of intelligence, reflection analysis and strength; art, yes, but fruit of intelligence, extraordinary for superficial mind or even freak, but intelligence, so the Divine Comedy of Dante, involves intelligence otherwise wouldn't be possible to produce it, so the Monalisa of Leonardo, so the 5TH of Beethoven! Art is the vulgar way to define forms or extension of the Philosophy.
A Van Gogh, put in the wrong light, looks like a minor's work, a minor, put in the right light, looks like a Van Gogh's.
The art critics doesn't really exist, because today is a consumer oriented and materialistic way to advertise, sometimes even to produce a political propaganda or art of a part, masked with void or senseless technical terms, smoke, in its negative sense, figuratively speaking, unless the art's critic is honest and loves arts more than a painter does that's mean that he really doesn’t care much about the money but put the arts first; anyway the real critics is probably, the our after death descendants, in all the human being expressions and knowledge, political, economic, social, philosophical, theological, artistic and so on. Sometimes the critics are the painter’s, composer’s, actor’s, scientist’s or writer’s village or city inhabitants or even his whole country, that kind of critics is impartial, because there are comprehensible affective feelings involved, the artist or scientist or whatever is their hero and beloved, in this case the critics they do not really care their cohabitant or co-national, sometimes they do not know absolutely nothing about him, they care only about themselves, they identifies themselves in that, that’s all, even if tender, such kind of critics, especially if corrupted by politics , because partial, and science and arts are impartial and correlative, could go against their hero. It is like a mum protecting and pride of his son, psychologically speaking.
The modern politics are like arts critics which gives condemns and rejection to works of art without even see them, but on the very same hand are the very same ones that gives approval and recommendation to works of art without even see them all. The works must belong to one party only, their party, so which ever of not arts or literature, covered by this system of arts or literary production become partial and even if really work of arts or literature it looses the universality of arguments, which is the arts and the literature itself after all.
What did Picasso invented and then destroyed? Well, the Abstract art, of course! The Picasso art reflect the modern age, and so mind, there are been many great painters the last century, but unless we are art's critics or teachers, all the people all over the world knows the modern art as Picasso, the several others are unknown or a brief parenthesis, or just a publicity trick. Anyway, beside the point, the Picasso modern art or the post blue years, which is the my favourite, wasn't really intended as that, in the sense that, Picasso at certain point, was bored of its paintings and that's means that he found them banal, empty he didn't find what he felt, and to find what he felt inside, he had to destroy that, the peaceful, the solar, the happy paintings did satisfied it art search and mood, he felt the horror, the violence, the death, the chaos, all this visions in its mind couldn't be represented by a peaceful and happy painting, it was lie, and the artist doesn't admit a lie for the art sake, well, art means honesty [*see The Sacrifice of Victor – Art ( definition of the art )], so he had to represent all that and the result was something that if we look from distance seems abstract, but it was the world face and shape, the very reality, the truth not a lie, so very little to do with the term abstract, which came after him, or its work, just for justify limited painters, which could do what the just could do and they all missed the reality, in fact as I said before, if you ask of a modern painter in Honduras, well they would know only Picasso. So Picasso to represent the very reality had to begin a journey, an introspective journey, in the name of the honesty and so truth, which brought him to sacrifice its early stylistic form to its new and maturated one, but it didn't mean a regression in its case, because the blue years represented the golden years in all the Europe, and not inferior to the cubist years, as I said, as a painter myself the blue years works remain my favourite painting of Picasso. But, attention, abstraction art, not just today, but since the end of the world war two, it is not art, it does not represent a reality, but a lie, a limitation, cultural, social, and artistic limitation, something we just can do, but it doesn't really mean it is the art that must can be done, which was the Picasso's one and for him the cubism was a sacrifice, because in terms of beauty, the blue years are superior, but they could not represent the reality, so Picasso stay the rest are just a like some one which find the excuse abstract, to foul the masses, like a fake doctor using scientific word with a child or with an ignorant old lady, they all, and I mean since the Picasso's death to now days, doesn't matter who they are, who the are with, who they are sent from, hardly would last more then 10 years, as modern art artist, they become all as shadows, names known for the critics just to try to sell a painting for 10.000 $ more, but, they hardly really are worth that 10.000 $ already. So, at end Picasso, with his death, destroyed the cubism or abstract art too, or maybe only, like a machine which he invented because artistic need but need to be destroyed anyway for the same needs.
The mental emptiness and cultural superficiality or even just something unusual rises through the face and gesture, doesn't matter how beautiful they are and how perfectly dressed, this kind of model would never be worth a to be painted.
Pathos is like two different paintings, the first a landscape with maybe some ruins or a sunset in it, beautiful, a second a portrait of a soul, alive.
The over perfectionism or over zealously personality or over pendant person, methodically speaking, and culture, the pedantic one, at a certain point transform itself in a prison impossible to escape, always and always.
Art cannot be learnt at school, it's something we are born with it. But a careful and scrupulous observation of the universe and reality around us is a preferable teacher anyway, always if we are very, very fond of art.
The modern art reflexes the cultural level of a society, that's why if we turn a painting upside-down, it looks the same beautiful.
Who doesn’t give anything, doesn't give anything in anything.
The depth has a positive and negative value, (infinite) negative if it is the matter or human mind or psyche, (finite) positive if the ocean.
Any Warhol. Non puoi dipingere! Peccato!
The figurative art need a scientific and lucid observation of the universe, so the reality, as basis, to do not mention the social and political reality, otherwise they would have ad generate senseless and childish works. The scientific and investigative mind are necessary for the artist to represent the reality, usually great artists, had a systematic or scientific method, n the way of working and in the way to render the reality, in the way to create a dimension or space, then an object in the space, then the light study, which it could determine, not only the dimension and space, but mainly the time or atmosphere, I mean that it could give the sense of a nice day, nasty day, or a summer or a winter; then the object form, which the imperfections or reality, could give the sense of happiness or sadness and life, for example, if a painting would be too perfect, the person represented, couldn't seem human but a sculpture, so, dead or inanimate thing, then the shades and the colour, and the way to refill the space with it would give the sense of movement and life, otherwise the person (or even a landscape) represented would still look inanimate. All this work at prior of painting is certainly opera of a scientific mind and observation. In simple words before Leonardo Da Vinci, the paintings did still look like the 10000 old Egyptian paintings, after Leonardo Da Vinci, the paintings looked like today. Even if Da Vinci was vocationally a scientist first, his scientific observation, of the nature brought him to create an iconographic vision of the reality, which the implemented object in the space and the calculation between lines and curves variation in the space represent the modern art, the same we are still doing today.
The main property of the human being is associated with a ground surface or belonging to two material elements, air and soil and not belonging to the water as specie or as fundamental material and biological and chemical and physical human being body property. The human mind 'puberty' or 'ingenuity' or 'question' is taken as a set of material finite objects associated to physical events whose part of them are still missing or 'unknown'. This is materially and physically, the universe, the matter itself. To all the creatures and the matter itself or creatures belonging to an 'universe' made of material finite objects, must be admitted another 'universe' or 'reality', a one made of a not finite objects one, parallel and complementer to the human beings and also to animals, plants and even rocks and sand, atomically speaking, which the death is part of the finiteness of this universe or reality. Because we are part of an infinite [*] universe, made of material finite objects, we can rely only on finite, but death is not infinite, not material, so infinite and 'unknown', that's mean part of an universe of infinite made of not finite objects, so, universe of infinite infinite, because abstract and not material objects. The material and physical reality is associated to an abstract and infinite concept and to a material and physical finite one, the time and a set of, or infinite set of 'memories', where 'memory' is associated to an universe made of finite material objects which fundamentally and materially are associated to physical events, this is the self consciousness itself. The human being is a finite part of an infinite [*] part, where part is the 'limit' of knowledge and so conscience as essence, the concept itself of the existence. Human beings belong to a part of an universal material finite reality, the material-biological-physical one, for example if we consider the sun as material and physical universe's object, we know of its existence because we can watch at it, warm ourselves, and so on, it is part of our 'universe' or reality and so it is the way round, materially and physically we have the very common or share common properties. These common properties is the universe itself, the one we know. We are materially, physically an object that contains the concept of the reality itself. The universe reality is an aspect of a material, physical, mechanical, atomic part of the universe, and its concept of an universe concept itself too is taken as a record of a set of records or a material physical finite object part of material physical infinite or universe, so a material physical infinite or universe made of realities or objects, consequently the reality is a property common to an infinite finite material part of the universe and the capability to record itself as a material finite part of an infinite part of the universe, the class-consciousness, so the effective reality, that's why other creatures live like a dream even if we share the same properties. It is like going in holiday all over the world but allowed to only one sunshine days holidays and only, to enjoy. In substance we are material physical finite objects capable to record part of an infinite part as finite part of it, which time and object as record of itself could confirm an 'infinite' of it as reality. So the reality is the limit one an only reality, the our reality, the universe containing infinite finite material physical objects or realities and this universe could only be true or be the universe itself if all these objects or realities have the same properties or share at least one property associate between them. It is like going to a Public Aquarium and see several tanks, each one containing different fishes, every tank is an infinite universe containing material physical finite objects which share the same property. Human being universe and human being 'reality' is just one of these tanks, the whole set of tanks is the entire universe [* see the watermill]. Curious! Fishes, to be silent creatures look like the talk all the time! Anyway, this is the universe pictured by Colin McCormick [Carmine Rendina]. Bill’s. There are things in the world that, no matter what, the copyrights won’t apply or are just an unnecessary or a ridiculous optional. A classic example is the Miles Davies’ sound or Picasso’s hand.
Once there was a moth in a beautiful garden, here name was Mary, she, despite being a creature of the dark was loved by any creature of the garden, except by the fireflies on a side of the garden on a wall covered of envy; Mary was kind, graceful, sweet and most of all she had the most beautiful voice in the whole wide garden, and all loved listening her singing every night; she turned the night time in heaven with her voice, her melodies were so harmonious that all the other little creatures couldn't help themselves to close their eyes and fly. Mary, for all that spring and summer sang every night, and she was very happy with that, well, not always, the fireflies didn't waste any change to let her feeling out of place with the saying that she was not intended to sing but to fly in the night, or that she was weird or even that she couldn't sing. Mary, to those words, every time ran home and alone in her room cried all night silently. When the summer was near to end he became moody and kind of sad and her singing too, but this didn't bother the little creatures of the garden because,they seemed enjoying her singing as the usual or even more then the usual, but suddenly a thunder stroke on a tree of the garden and started to rain a very heavy rain, a rain so heavy that all the creatures had to run as quickly as they could to do not drawn in all that pouring. The next days she returned to sing and this time it was her usual singing, like heaven. But one day she felt moody again and her singing too but not like the last time, this time sounded scary but beautiful just in that way or because that way, and she realized that this time but just then a thick fog went down on all the garden, so she went back inside sit on her coach, made herself a tea and she tough:”It's the thickest fog I ever seen!” And then:”It cannot be, it's the second time I feel moody and happen something awful, it cannot be because my singing, this is nonsense!” But those weird thoughts couldn't get out from her head until she finally fall to sleep. The days after Mary was afraid to sing, thing that made the fireflies happy and all the other little creatures being down all night. But soon enough because that was her nature after all, she, almost unconsciously like if she was carried away silently with a caress, despite she was aware of the last times she sang, began to sing. But this time her singing sounded like plenty of anger, but yet still beautiful, perhaps a little more colourful of her usual way, in fact the other little creatures, at that singing couldn't help themselves to start a frenetic dance, thing never happened before. But suddenly the dance was interrupted by a violent storm, and within minutes the sky became white, the wind stopped and the air froze to death, and her, Mary with her head and eyes down, and the face like someone which did something wrong, behind the window of her room watched the snow falling and covering of white every where. At that sight she said to herself:” I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life!” But then she thought again:”It can be, it did happen again! It's all my fault!” Then she saw from her window many of the little creatures lying on the snow bed, like they were sleeping, even the hateful fireflies, and then, without even understand why, she felt pity for them. At a certain point she heard like a singing of joy, coming closer and closer; they were the children of the house, that dancing cheerful and dressed as she never saw them nearby woodland. All this was new for her, she never saw the children dressed like that before going out with that weather and most of all in the dark. So, curious she decided to go out. As soon as she went out all the other little creatures of the garden from their windows screamed at her:”Don't go out, it's too cold!” But the little moth pretended to do not have had heard them. So, she followed that cheerful dance and singing, until they stopped and started to dance around something she never saw before, but extremely beautiful and attractive. Then she was taken by that dancing which felt irresistible, but at a certain point the little moth heard a voice calling at her:”Mary, Mary!” But she couldn't see anyone, and then:”Over here!” At that point the little moth saw this beautiful face coming out from that thing she never saw before and asked:”What are you?” and that cheerful fellow answered:”Well, I am the fire, but you want to ask me something, don't you?” But Mary was taken again by that irresistible frantic dance, so she said:”No! Not really!” And the fire:”Well, I'll tell you anyway, there was nothing wrong in your singing, it was not your fault, the rain, the fog, the snow, sweetheart! On the contrary it was that rain, that fog and that snow to made you sing in that way! But listen to me, now, you have to come back home, you really shouldn't dance around me any more, please believe me, you could die if you do that! But Mary couldn't just stop to dance, faster and faster and faster; she never felt as happy as she was now. And the fire again at the seeing that:”Please, little moth do not come close to me you will die in tat way!” And the moth:”But I feel so worm and happy!” And the fire, crying this time:”Please little moth do not come any closer, you will die in that way!” and the moth:”It means that, this is the way I want to die anyway!”