I am beginning to comprehend what abstraction means to me, something utterly crucial. I pass by good, classical pictures without stopping. It’s as if I was watching the views outside my window- they are familiar and do not intrigue me. Even Cubism and Dadaism are too obvious; I am looking for stories yet untold, stories that that do not exist until the moment they are told by me. I felt it today when I began working on a picture. The background was done to perfection (I did it yesterday), and then a thought- oh, Lord, do not let me become a master of sub images! So there I was, staring at this empty space in fabulous colours, with my beloved gradients, with the texture of resins and I was afraid of getting stuck because I am not capable of abstract thinking in this particular moment. My mind is full of stories, pictures looking like photos and I cannot get rid of them. I suppose I need to leave and return tomorrow. No, no, I love WHAT I DO, so I stay and gape at this ‘blank page’, aware that all is needed is just one stroke and things will get going. So I did paint a bold stroke in delicious black, right across the canvas, and I broke it, and painted another. Remember the famous first two tacts that Mozart dictated to Salieri on his deathbed with a brazen comment that after that things just flow? Ok, it was Forman’s version, but I do adore this scene.
