Monet’s studio
This was a wall from Monet’s studio, that he had in his home in Giverny. (Later he built a very large one where he could paint his famous waterlilies). The walls were lined with (copies) of his own paintings. After I visited his home and garden I went to this quaint restaurant just outside of town. The food was hardly worth eating but the location was beautiful
Mill Restaurant
Monet is buried in Giverny in 1926. This family plot has several children, and other members of his family, including, oddly, his lover’s husband who deserted her and their children (who Monet wound up raising as his own). The flowery grave is lovely but doesn’t compare to the beauty of his gardens which still thrive just down the way.
Pablo Picasso loved birds. His father painted them in his home studio when Picasso was a child. His Dove lithograph was created as a symbol for peace after WW2. He named his daughter Paloma with means dove. There is also many paintings in his Barcelona museum that feature seagulls. Here are some of the dozens of parrots that I saw beside this statue of Picasso in Malaga; I couldn’t help but think of them as “Picasso’s birds”.
This painting by Modigliani was painting of his partner, who was also an artist of her own right. He painted it in 1918, about two years before his passing. He painted her more than any other of his models, at least 30 times.
I was lucky enough to see this original in spring of this past year while visiting the Tate in London.
Late this October I made a pilgrimage to a place I only knew of from the paintings of Soutine. He was there just three brief years but created so much of his work that I loved in this small village. Getting there wasn’t easy, for a budget traveler like myself, but I did it. When I arrived the small but wonderful modern museum in the village happened to have all but one Soutine put away to make room for a guest artist, I was anything but disappointed with my visit. The tiny town was very much as it was when Soutine painted it, and they had signs throughout the main part of the village placed as close as possible to the places they felt Soutine had painted the same view. I sought out every one but had the most trouble finding the one for the Couvent des Capucins. I did however find the chapel, by the most amazing luck. The manager of the AirBB I rented invited me to tea, and after we visited a friend of his who happened to be living in the cold tiny cold convent attached to the church. She and I became instant sisters and rarely left each others side for the rest of my stay in Ceret, and on one of our walks we happened to come across the last missing sign I was looking for. It was of the same place, the Couvent des Capucins, that helped make Ceret feel so much like my home. These photos are of the church from different sides and of course one of Ania and I.
About a week ago I visited the birth home of Picasso in the lovely town of Malaga, in Southern Spain. I wasn’t able to take photos of the interior but it was a wonderful experience. They had the sitting room arranged very much like it was when Picasso was born, going off of descriptions of people who had actually been there. Also a studio of Picasso’s father, José Ruiz y Blasco, with many of his paintings set up in the front room. The rest of the home was filled items from Picasso and his family members. Down stairs was a small museum featuring dozens of beautiful sketches of Picasso’s, which were great to see in person. Picasso’s flat was on the second floor. He was born there on October 25, 1881 and he lived there for four years.
In 1962 this mural was created in Barcelona and it’s the only public work of art done by Picasso in the city. Picasso was asked to created it, but he refused to make it as long as the dictator Franco remained in power. Finally he compromised by designing it, but wouldn’t actually come back to Spain to create it. Included in the design, is several references to Catalan traditions, which were illegal under Franco, so it is a rather political work.
Miro, was a son of Barcelona but that doesn’t make him any less a painter of Paris. He made his first trip to Paris at the age of 26 and there after lived and painted every winter there until he fled Spain for Paris permanently during the Spanish civil war in the 1930s.
On my trip to Paris I got to know Miro’ a bit better, through is artwork. I had never realized how political it was before. His burned paintings, which he did later in his career, were to protest the establishment, the political state, and even the art world. He considered it painting with fire. He wrote ‘The artist does not live in bliss. He is sensitive to the world, to the pulsation of his time, to the events which compel him to act. This is bound to happen. This is not an intellectual attitude but a profound feeling, something like a cry of joy which delivers you from anguish.’
My son and I were talking about art the other day and he was saying really anything could be art. I disagreed. I insist it must either have esthetics, an expression, or a message. To be good art it must have at least two of the above. Perhaps great art has all three?
Certainly Miro has all three.
Why am I talking about street art on a blog about being inspired by the Paris Bohemians. Two reasons… first is that I think that the bohemians, spurred by the invention of the camera, were the catalystic fathers (and occasional mothers) of all modern and contemporary art, and second it’s my blog, so basically I can flex the rules that made myself as I see fit.
I am staying in the El Ravel barrio of Barcelona. I think it might just be the street art capital of the universe. How can I not share the experience of being surrounded by so much inspired work? Every building is covered with art, usually only on the first floor, the rest being only used as a canvas occasionally by the very industrious. Much of it is generic tagging, but a good portion of it is brilliant artwork; everything from lowbrow art, to pop art, to classical portraiture. I really love the way that there seems to be respect for the most talented of the street artist. Tagging is layered on top of tagging, but if you see a piece of well done art in just about any style, even excellently rendered tagging, it is rare that anyone has disfigured it by tagging over it, instead it is left unspoiled with respect, that is not given even the most ancient buildings, save for Gaudi’s works, and a few others of national importance.
Perhaps many of these artist never give a second thought to the Paris Bohemians, but I can see the influence in the colors, the lines, the boldness, and the expression, and maybe most importantly the spirit of art as a rebellion.
Yesterday on a walking tour of Picasso’s Barcelona we visited the 4 Gats. Four cats means that everything has basically gone to hell, because no one can control four cats. I love that as the name for a cafe specifically built with he intention as a hang out for artist. The owner, Pere Romeu, opened it in 1897, imitating the Noir Chat in Paris. It was an immediate hit in Barcelona with artist and musicians and was known as the bohemian central of Bacelona, visited by anyone visiting town. Dali and Picasso both frequented the cafe.
Picasso had his first solo art show on the back wall of this place, and the current owners continue the tradition by using the back wall to host local artists works. See the photo of of me? That wall behind me is said wall. I was naughty and right after that photo I rubbed the same wall Picasso had his first art exhibit on for good luck!
Romeu was such a supporter of the arts that he never collected tabs on artists who could not pay, and had to eventually close doors in spite of the places popularity.
Since I am such a foodie this wouldn’t be complete without at least a little review of the food we had. We had the creamy rice with seafood, cuttle fish, clams, and lobster. The seafood was over cooked and the dish tasted a bit of the same after a few bites, but it had still a decent flavor and it certainly wasn’t the worst food we had in Barcelona. I would have been happy if it was awful probably but it truth the food was fair, and the deserts delicious. A steak went by that looked fabulous. There was a piano player and the dining room felt rich in history. Definitely worth a nights out when in Barcelona.
Recently I wrote a blog post about visiting this church that Van Gogh painted. The church still stands and I saw in 2016. What I failed to mention is I also saw Vincent Van Gogh’s original of this painting the same year at the Musee D’Orsay in Paris. The photo is terribly blurry, but I was remiss not to post it with the photo of the church, so here it is. In my photo of the church I did my best to stand about where the woman in the painting is standing.
I saw Van Gogh’s Painting of the Church of Auvers at the Musee d’Orsay in Paris several days before I visited Auvers-sur-Oise. I had no idea I would be seeing the actual church from the famous painting. It was exciting for me to see the building as it is, in the beige and grey, and understand that the blues, violets and orange that Van Gogh painted it in were creative choices.
I read that the much of the blue we now see in Van Gogh’s paintings were actually originally violets, and many of the whites were pink, but that the red hue he used for both was unstable and quickly faded, much like todays florescent colors. So it’s quite possible the church was even more violet than it now appears.
Van Gogh lived in Auvers-sur-Oise the last several months of his life and painted this church the month before he passed away. When you get a chance take a look at his painting. (You don’t need to travel to Paris, just google it) I like how much movement there is in it, and how the building feels almost as if it is alive. I wonder at the choices he made, why is one line of the building absolutely straight, while others are lively and wavy.
I stood on the path that the woman stand on in the painting. I would have liked to walk into the church, but just being there felt incredible, as if I had walked right into a painting.
As well as the nearly dozen art museums I had to see while in Paris about 18 months ago, I had a list of Cafes and bookstores and even front doors I had to visit, that were of historical importance, where artists, intellectuals, feminists, and writers had gathered and spent their hours. One must stop was the cafe, Les Deux Magots. With my celiac disease the menu was limited to coffee and sorbet, and I ordered a Cassis, which I thought might be currant, but was really unfamiliar with what currant tasted like.
The cafe was crowded with tourist, the sorbet far too sour for my tastes, and not a literary or artistic conversation with an interesting stranger in sight. I was still not disappointed. How could one be disappointed in Paris? Besides I had this waiter to look upon. I was thrilled with the traditional apron and bowtie, and the meticulous care he took with his work. I felt compelled to paint him and wished I had my tools right there and then. What I did have was my phone camera and I got this snapshot through the window.
Often my work is painted from fancy of the imagination, but occasionally a friend or stranger will strike me in a moment like this, and the muse is insistent. She is not satisfied until the painting has been painted.
Below is the painting finished in November or so of last year.
It was a dark and stormy day in Auvers-sur-Oise, North France, my tour guide pointed our across a field and said, it was out there, that Van Gogh was shot. I should have tried for a better photo I guess, I remember the view better. It seemed there was a cluster of trees out there, but it was raining fairly hard at the time.
The story the locals tell in the small village of Auvers-sur-Oise, of the death of Van Gogh are different than any account I had read before. They tell a story of a Van Gogh who was rather happy, painting a new painting daily, looking forward to the opportunity to have his first art show. I have felt that madness of creation. Its a good place to be. Although we can never know another heart, it’s hard to imagine choosing this time, to end ones life.
According to local rumor passed down through the generations, two boys, who were trouble makers, actually shot Van Gogh out in the field, the shot was not fatale and Van Gogh made his way back to his room at Auberge Ravoux, and called for the doctor. The use the fact that he shot himself in the stomach and not the head or heart, and walked to his room, over a mile, and then asked for the doctor to save him, is evidence he did not want to take his own life. It is said, he swore the doctor to secrecy as he knew the boys would lose their own lives for something he felt was a mistake on their part. Locals report that late in life, one of the boys confessed to the crime to those close to him.
I like to think of a Van Gogh painting obsessively until his last days, and his dying wish being to protect the young lives that took his genius so early.
La Célestine, 1904, by PicassoI saw La Celestine at the Picasso Museum in Paris in 2016. It’s one of his most famous from his blue period. Picasso painted nearly exclusively in blue during this period. It was a period not only of physical suffering, and poverty for him, but also emotional suffering as he lost a dear friend to suicide. What is less known is that Picasso also wore mostly blue clothes himself at this time.
I feel that color can be a strong indicator of mood in a work and strive to be conscious of what feelings the colors I use create in me as I paint with them. This work is inspiring and impressive for me because of the the depth of value he achieves with very little hue change, working nearly exclusively in Payne’s Grey. It is a reminder to me not just to work on value myself to always be encouraging my students to notice value, and pay attention to it in their own works.
Painting in the Shadows of the Paris Bohemians 