3rd June 2018 – Aldtsjerk – village by Leeuwarden – Man
The cultivated garden. Thoughts flying from « Hortus conclusus » to Botticelli’s flower encyclopedia and, of course, to Voltaire’s « il faut cultiver son propre jardin « .
Room in the attic. Two horses passing my window parralelly stepping into the frame from morning till night, entering it once from the right side, next time from the left. White horse followed by the black one or inversely, always moving parallely towards window plane, fluidly, like in a slow motion movie. Eating grass for all this muscular force, curving their necks into the ground, and then, at the falling of night, their elegant silhouettes, their necks erected towards sky, move into their stable.
4th June – road pictures – Animal
Bucolic paysages. Sheep with a golden line along their back at 20 o’ clock at night remind me on Millet’s paintings from Muséed’ Orsayin Paris. « Les pastorales ».
6th June – Museum Belvédère Friesland –Art
Tinus van Doorn – northern Chagall – what a « découvert » !
Great modern painting collection. For my eyes so essential, so close to my perception of painting. I feel grounded again. Everything happens on the surface, all depth is encompassed within tiny floating layer of paint. Like Dutch horizons. As if you would cut off a piece of a painted canvas – like conservators and restorers do in order to analyse the painting’s layers with a microscope – and observe stripes of different colors built one upon another, similar to archeological remains, suggesting passing of time and evoking silent symphony of endlessness. Horizons.
7th June 2018 – Schiermonnikoog island – Locus
The unimaginable experience. Like I would step into my imaginary painting. Absolute painting.
But I got sunburned in the seemingly gentlest sun I remember. Nature touches and strikes unexpectedly, so the sublime image of the unreachable horizons showed its teeth and let painful marks on my skin showing concretely its dark side by imprinting and penetrating my vision and skin. The old Romantic poets and painters have proved their thesis here in life, on the margin of endlessness. I am struck by beauty, and yet, I feel hidden brutality of nature again.