Pink Roses, Jen Mazza, 2010
Someone once told me that every artist should have a secret body of work that they never show.
The paintings I am working on at the moment should perhaps be my “secret body of work”, only I can’t seem to make two bodies of work at the same time – I only can do what comes next.
At this moment I am thinking peonies come next, well, that is after I finish…
…the geranium.Â A small homage to Jean Renoir (I am also looking forward to seeing Rules of the Game again soon).
And some thoughts of others:
“I believe rather that I discover – that I prove – the direction I am moving in by moving.”
from Species of Spaces by Georges Perec
“Every writer of course works differently, but I suspect that most novels begin in their writers’ minds as confusions of images, impulses, scattered meanings, devotions, grudges, fixations and some vague sort of plot, to name a few. A novel in its earliest form, before it begins to be rendered in language, is a cloud of sorts that hovers over the writer’s head, a mystery born with clues to its own meanings but also, at its heart, insoluble. One hopes – a novel is inevitably and expression of unreasonable hopes – that the finished book will contain not only characters and scenes but a certain larger truth, thought that truth, whatever it may be, is impossible to express fully in words. It has to do with the fact that writer and reader both know, beneath the level of active consciousness, something about being alive and being mortal, and that that something, when we try to express it, inevitably eludes us. We are creatures whose knowledge exceeds that which can be articulated. Although language is enormously powerful, it is concrete, and so it can’t help but miniaturize, to a certain extent, that which we simply know.”
from Michael Cunningham’s Introduction to Death in Venice by Thomas Mann
and a few more – still wet – so please excuse the fuzzy snapshots…