My favorite artists, at least for today. Human and productive. Sensitive, maybe too much. Very much alive. Much of what I know about art comes from studying them.
Stieglitz “contributed not only scientific and artistic photographic studies, but also introduced modern art to America and furthered the theory of photography as art.” In his time, the greatest photographer living.
Van Gogh was mentally ill, an affliction that didn’t interfere with his love of color. Prolific and introspective, he cut off his ear, because of some problem he has a a bordello. He was checked into a mental hospital, got better and did a self portrait which he sent to him mother. Bold, emotional, impulsive. No mystery in his work.
Cezanne, the father of all modern art, somber tones, geometric shapes. Tried to shock the staid salon members with his nudes and ambiguous forms. Acted out. Didn’t observe the rules of human interaction or painting. Didn’t like photography, but may have used it to copy from. Preferred his studio where he could produce more orderly organized images to the outdoors. Always had a story which he didn’t tell.
Back to my work, whatever it is. Like Van Gogh and Cezanne, no one will appreciate my art during my life. Unlike them, I will have no after life. But, then, I am not them. But I will leave a few self-portrtaits just like they did.
