There is never enough of them – do you know this feeling? Books. Books. Books. You would spent your life in the libraries and your savings on purchasing yet another title with a delight, that an art collector enriches his ‘stable’ with yet another beautiful, desirable piece of an artwork. It usually starts very early in a childhood – once being firmly and passionately ‘hooked’, one can sense it over time, that there is hardly any way/chance of escaping (and rarely one is attempting it either) from this quite unique, vast world of words, stories, concepts, titles, authors.
I remember time of a pure addiction when I had to have my room filled in tightly with the piles of books and I would never read one at the time, but four or five of different titles enjoying the interweaving of the themes, stories and styles the way the cocktails aficionado marvels at the minute transformations in taste/smell/colour of a drink once the one or another ingredient contributing takes over the rest. But there was also a rebellion time when all the questioning of the written word (or ‘word’ at all), its sense and purpose took place – I believed that one casual conversation is worth more than a dozen of invented stories. That was obviously a passion-boosting fight between two lovers and quite quickly I found myself simply unable to keep my hands of the printed pages and my mind of that very strong, existential need to devour their contents feverishly and with a wild enjoyment.
What is more important in terms of a self-discovery and my artistic research is that I’m becoming increasingly aware of a strong link between my condition of being a still-born writer (or – never truly born yet, from different reasons) and my ambition of pursuing an artist’s path. It seems that I’m trying to approach and master that beloved universe of the human spirit – described, analyzed, transformed, invented anew and ‘written down’ in all the books I read (and tried to write in vain) from another – the visual aids-based angle. In this sense I share that struggle with many other artists/painters, who chose (or have been destined to) the liminal/boundary and cross-disciplinary spaces to function and work in, rather than to focus mainly/predominantly on the purely aesthetic, fine-art based exploration and display.
When I look at paints/art materials I see ideas to be embodied, when I listen to my work on its way of a development and a metamorphosis I sense its intense desire to become, to come to existence, to get the ‘face’ and a very distinctive, believable story – just the way, the would-be characters of my fiction have had… “Give birth to me”! “Help me to be!” – they would haunt me in a sweetly-sour manner, the same is true to my paintings now… the blessed curse, the cursed blessing of the life-giver, a creator – to be a midwife, a womb, a medium and to be entirely and for ever responsible for what has been helped to happen…