five
Twentieth century after zero
intellect is rounded dangerously
here comes death
of every existing artistic style
the reign of emotions
battles
the classic
the modern
battles
the classic
furiously
the natural observes
the deconstruction that
has been planted
in the newborn-subconscious
the classic resists
the postmodern
Dali embraces Lorca timidly
Five Painters
If you were ignorant, you
could think they were civil servants.
Colorless, at the corner
of the restaurant
they chit-chat
about current affairs. Nothing
of their movements
or words reveal anything
about art. Nothing,
other than the smile,
I think, and the glance
of the oldest one.
He just finished, tonight,
three hours ago,
his most important composition.
He senses that it could be
the crown achievement of his work
now that time is pressing on him.
He stays quiet, he only listens.
He contemplates the opening night
the comments of his peers
the people’s simpleminded words.
The thorny crown of the critics and
later the dissertations, monographs,
writings and further down the road
a very honorary spot on the museum wall.
He contemplates, happy with what
he has left behind, that some might imagine
his unlimited delight during that night,
when he placed his last brushstroke
on the canvas. He could explain,
with such euphoric euphoria, his intentions
and achievements to his friends
who would be listening with awe.
Intentions and success of the Art,
not colorless gossip and banal
words that the ignorant
always like to repeat.
excerpt
He was in his room with his mind wandering to faraway lands
where he might have to go for a while. Yes, he had to accept the offer.
This position was going to be his post. Even if he had to go abroad, it
would be just for a while. He liked the idea of being around the young
people who could be moulded to his way of thinking. He could be a
craftsman who would take soil and plant it into a pot of his liking.
Yes, this was a position he had to accept.
“Everything will go the way it was supposed to go,” Hermes
told himself.
Cleaned and dressed, he went downstairs. His aunt was there.
“Ready to go, my boy?”
“Yes, dear Aunt. I shouldn’t be late.”
“You are right. Go then and try to learn everything, so you
know what you will get yourself into, conditions, demands, everything,
okay? Remember, nobody these days offers you something
without expecting something in return.”
“Yes, I know, I will find out the best I can. Don’t worry. I’ll tell
you all about it when I’m back.”
“Are you going to be late?”
“No, and I’m not going to Eleni’s after this, if that’s what you are
saying,” he answered and went to the door.
Half an hour later, he was at the doorstep of the dean’s house
and rang the bell.
The dean himself opened.
“Good evening, Dean.”
“Good evening, Hermes. Come in.”
He walked in and sat down in an armchair. The house was
rich, lordly, with thick carpets and furniture of a conservative style.
All kinds of paintings hung on the walls. Some of them were classic
styled and coloured pieces, although a couple of them looked
modern, especially one, an abstract painting, flooded by an overhead
light, looked very impressive as it caught Hermes’ glance, which
focused on it for a few extra seconds, not to be missed by the dean,
who smiled and, sitting across from Hermes, asked,
excerpt
The Minister was a Maritimer and his open, neighbourly manner
delighted Ken. Their meeting resulted in the eminently successful 1975
exhibition of Ken’s Arctic work in Spain, and in the fashion of one domino
tipping the next, the first Canadian exhibition of the Arctic works was
triggered. Once the unusual, haunting images had been seen, and the origin
of the work was explained, all the right people wanted to own one of the
paintings, and gallery owners were clamouring to exhibit them. Best of
all, to Ken’s mind, it had been accomplished without cost to the Canadian
government beyond their public support and a few phone calls.
This was the beginning of the long road to the national introduction of
the Inuit, their stories and experiences, and the growing acceptance of the
symbol of the Inukshuk as a uniquely Canadian icon. It could be argued
this was the pivotal step that led to the Inukshuk becoming the distinctive
symbol of welcome for the 2010 Vancouver Olympics.
The Arctic paintings sold by the hundreds, nationally and internationally,
to the point where, a quarter of a century later, Canadian Art galleries were
objecting to anything other than ice, snow and Inuksuit displaying the
Kirkby name. It was ironic.
~~
Despite the history, the lack of outlets for Kirkby’s west coast images
promised a lean period ahead for the painter. He decided to force the issue
by withholding all of his art until the galleries accepted his new works. The
businessmen amongst the owners appreciated the fact that a painting with
the Kirkby signature translated into a certain sale, and Ken’s experience had
proven they’d come around when their stock was depleted.
He continued to work late, the bright light a beacon, spilling warmth
from the loft window. And then, one night he returned to the cottage to
find the message light blinking on the answering machine. That was the
start. While gallery managers still hopefully requested the Arctic series,
they agreed to hang work from his Vancouver Island series. Happily, new
customers liked it and previous Kirkby collectors were intrigued. Ten
years since that breakthrough, his work is more popular than ever and…
Manolis Aligizakis 