I exhibit, I create catalogues of the exposed art, I paint to order, I update my websites frequently, I have my visiting cards printed and hand them to people. But I´m not an earnest artist. I mean I´m not the kind of graduated, serious and reputable person. I don´t puzzle over the technique. I paint in the living room (at the expense of my family). I laugh at my architect friend when he desperately looks for a trace of perspective in my “urban” paintings. I paint by my heart. I´m in trouble with the palette knife. And when I finish a painting I smile widely (and now and then I joyfully scamper).
Apart from a few biographic novels about famous impressionists, the ostravian Gallery of art is the only source of my artistic education therefore I visit every single exhibition there. I endure the eagle eye of cautious keepers and disregard their shocked looks when I laugh out loud at some pieces of art. I hate taking art too seriously.
Recently I visited an exhibition on geometric-abstract art from the Netherlands. This sort of art is all Greek to me but I never miss the chance to broaden my horizons. And I have to admit that I really liked a few pieces. But something caught my attention. There were short curriculum vitae of the artists beside the paintings which were full of information about the graduated schools of art, well-known ateliers, countries where the artist exhibited (without distinction of the artist´s age). And among these captivating CVs there was a short one belonging to a Dutch painter. It was just saying that she was born (some time ago) a she lives (somewhere). Maybe she is quiet common woman as well who has never finished studying a book on oil techniques and when she signs her just completed painting she marvels at the final effect.