Tree of knowledge

Art can do anything. May grab, bore, decorate, disturb, ask or comfort, disgust or rejoice. Art is free.
All creators are looking for their own language, concept and intention. Mine is to paint clever pictures as long as people are so foolish, me included, and I can paint and live. I use the temptations of craftsmanship, radiant colours, funny titles, sensuality or the hope of solace. With a sly brush tip I take my time on a journey into the future, which will ask for justification. Certainly, my aberrations of the mind will be put aside as illustrative mannerism, my femininity will be condemned to authorship. It will be fine with me, even posthumously, because the patriarchal view of art history has already revealed itself to me at painting times in its capitalist defense of benefices as a construct of lies, even with some quota women as packaging, with which the painting masculinity elegantly ensured that they remained harmless when the benefices were distributed. It can’t mislead me, it motivates my courage, pampers my expectations.
And so my tree of knowledge does not make us naked, it shows us as fools. This makes Adam and Eve, in relation to our world development, more credible to me than a male deity’s view of a female “shame”. Or is it already there, the condemnation of one part of humanity, as an apple in the womb of masculinity? Back when the male part was pleasing to God, somewhat stupidly seducible or just a murderer and the female side was condemned to the seductress to give birth in pain? Like a manifesto, this original idea already points the way to be taken in art history. Their acceptance was pursued inquisitively. This is where my brush picks up the trail. Here I look and let the tree rot a little, the fools look at each other. It makes me happy to answer something in return for my time.

Sound and Smoke
In the beginning there is the silence, the area of fog. An invitation to give the viewers space and time for their own entrance. My intentions, which should not play a role in this, are only available in the lateral settings. Similar to the dancers who warm up for their performance but are not yet in turn and wait impatiently until the set is ready for them.
Then the fog comes in that makes us too blind: consume, success, fame, beauty, recognition – the curtains of vanity, so indescribably void. We have nothing, we will keep nothing, so what else of life’s effort? What remains is the smile, the loving, the protected that still exists for a while when we already turn away. Each hand reaches out to another, each non-pushed hand can kick out and grow.
The layers, similar to the structure of Renaissance paintings, do not allow any colour perspective, they insist on being seen when shattered buildings become castles, because we cultivate them with content and affection.
We possess the rich treasure of a sea of forgetfulness to recover things or thoughts, cultures or memories and to revive them by making them visible, to protect them from their own stupidity.
The picture was taken in my head, like any other, lurking there to be painted. The thoughts came while looking at pictures in the DRK museum in Vogelsang, whose message touched me: With the joy of togetherness it is easier to ease, to look at the world and, in the end, this energy does not fade into sound and smoke. In the community’s refineries more scents than smoke are created, more cloud images than smog, a life plan of spiritual lust is formed, yes, there is one!

Sound and Smoke

Oil on canvas 

200 x 140 cm