Rummaging through boxes of photos today, I came upon these photos I made years ago. The one on the left is from Joshua Tree National Park. The one on the right is a "cliche-verre" or photographic drawing of sorts that I made with ink on plastic of a dying flower in a vase. Years later I instantly saw a connection. Could it be we are affected by the same forms, spirit, lines, over and over again, responding to some more than to others? Maybe these are about rising and falling, staying alive though being crippled in some way, existing in a space and environment that is stronger than we are.
I come to Paris to be reminded that art and love are one and the same. Both are driven by a desire for wholeness, creativity, truth, surprise. At the Centre Pompidou, I saw a Balthus that was just donated to the museum. I haven't seen a reproduction of it anywhere and, standing there, I felt that coming all the way to Paris was worth it just to see this one painting. A new Balthus at the Pompidou, Paris Art, like love, sometimes involves transgression. Balthus said, " I want to proclaim in broad daylight, with sincerity and feeling, all the throbbing tragedy of a drama of the flesh, proclaim vociferously, the deep-rooted laws of instinct." I learned to love Balthus as a student in Wayne Thiebaud's painting class in college. From the perspective of the painter looking at a Balthus, one quickly sees past the erotic elements and is struck by his masterful technique, a method based on years spent on one painting, using paints hand mixed each morning by his wife,...