Speaking of art...

I’m going to contradict myself today. I’m a woman, that’s what we do. So bear with me please.

Yesterday I mentioned that for me art is anything but replication. Today I’m going to show you one of my paintings, which adorns my tiny office corner. It’s my personal adaptation of Mondrian’s style, with my favourite colours. Yes, kind of a replica.

It’s not that I didn’t have the creativity to come up with something myself. I simply wanted to bring a Mondrianesque feel into my house. A splash of colour, a dash of symmetry and… some puzzled looks. Yes, I am aware of the fact that not everything adds up. I did that on purpose. I like it when artworks have a hint of the unexpected. My work is not unique. It’s not extraordinary. But I do love and cherish it, because it shows who I am and it translates my humility. I don’t see myself as an artist and I’m certainly not progressive. I’m a woman in search of the meaning of life. Through all life has to offer. Looking at a painting and feeling an instant connection is such an emotional experience. Art “makes sense” if it does precisely that. It needn’t be a positive emotion. Controversy and anger are equally good.

When speaking of art, there is one thing that truly upsets me: it being perceived as limited to a niche audience. I feel art should be accessible to everyone, regardless of age, gender or social background. I happen to live in an area with quite a few art galleries. A few times a month I witness fancy cars pull up in front of those perfectly painted doors flanked by expensive flower pots. Men in pinstriped suits standing on the pavement sipping champagne, showing off their trophy wives and chattering about anything but art. Is that what it’s all about? Are exhibition openings nothing but the perfect occasion to show off that new Gucci cocktail dress with matching Prada bag? A way to blend in with the nouveaux riches? It seems to me that in our society art is the key to acceptance in higher social circles. Sad but true.

The making of.