I am waiting for the transporter to pick up 'FLOWER 066'. The painting is going to London, to a hopefully happy customer.

In the studio I don't hear the doorbell and am therefore forced to do something useful in the living room.

I have reread many of my texts (WRITINGS): 'THE ROADS THAT LEAD TO ROME' and 'IN SEARCH OF A STYLE'. There are quite a few.

(click on the colored words to go to all or a few specific ones)

It has been a long time since I have produced a text for this page. Has my life come to a standstill? Are there no more interesting memories?

To talk about painting again, my doubts and opinions about it is not really interesting. I have been evading my major themes for so long, I have told them so often; it is clear to me what my struggle is, where it hurts, who my heroes are and who are tiring the world with pretentious rubbish.

I live in Barcelona again, I realized through all that reading that I lived in Utrecht for two and a half years instead of one and a half; wherever I will live, I will always carry the feeling of uselessness with me. I am still not world famous and that is perhaps a good thing. It keeps me from getting too big for my boots.

In the last two weeks I have been told four times that I am an interesting and valuable person and it irritates me to no end. Twice I have said that I found it insulting. Let people buy my paintings and leave me alone… what am I supposed to do with all that empty flattery…

Lately I often sleep badly. There are two reasons for it. One is red wine; I try desperately not to drink too much but always find a reason to score a bottle and empty it: a successful painting day, and a failed painting day, tidying up the house, buying good food and a glass of wine is necessary for cooking. A sale can also be a reason to empty a bottle (see above). But the best lame excuse was that I made a ladder to climb into my bed.

Actually quite dangerous. I have to make a turn, but after a bottle this can be risky. Previously I put a folding ladder next to the bed. That was easier, but the cats are very happy now. They can sleep on the bed all day. Oh well, if I am tired and still somewhat clear-headed I can always sleep upstairs, in the guest room.

Reason two is more alarming. I worry about the future. Not so much my financial situation; my whole life I have been burdened by my clumsiness, not being smart enough to be paid properly, to sell more, to convert all that slime about how good I am into hard cash. You get used to everything but no, the political climate is truly scandalously worrying.

I attribute it to several things: we have been ruining our living conditions for a very long time; something needs to be done about that, but of course it is always that the ‘others’ have to pay for it.

Then there is the lack of education (education is hopelessly bad) and the news in the media is too often too stupid and mendacious for words. The lie is in, is handled with too soft a hand. As Hannah Arendt said: ‘If everybody lies to you, the consequence is not that you believe the lies, but rather that nobody believes anything any longer… And a people who no longer can believe anything cannot make up its mind. It is deprived not only of its capacity to act but also of its capacity to think and judge. And with such a people you can then do what you please.’

This, coupled with the total lack of historical awareness and the fact that any other moral than that money is all that matters does not exist, makes me see the future as pitch black.

Many ghosts come to visit me at night.

So I flee back to the studio and paint my worried face.

detail of self-portrait, click on the image to go to the painting on the site.

Sure, ‘après moi le déluge’ and I console myself by thinking of my mother's remark 'that the soup is never eaten as hot as it is served'.

Here I have my doubts. My mother had a good upbringing, she had survived the Second World War and had a sober view of life. What would she think of all this life-threatening misery? I use heavily loaded words. But it is what I think of it… what is successful now is the total lack of compassion and the hope for a strong leader who does not care about anything, a semi-dictator, a so-called strong leader who at least ‘acts’ (and that action is then made impossible for him by the ‘others’; doesn’t a democracy work in such a way that you arrive at solutions together?)…

It must be said, here and there a strong leader has emerged, elected or not. But they are not well-thinking and compassionate. None of these so-called strong leaders show the real problems and the perhaps unpleasant consequences, actions that must be done without fear of not being elected again. The vast majority of politicians who are said not to listen to the people, do listen and only solve things that do not come at the expense of the wallets of the grumbling people. There are quite a few who only think about their career as politicians and furthermore it is blind greed that prevails.

I think we should call things by their name. Is all this something of recent times or have we slowly slipped away? To return to a historical awareness; did this not start in the seventies of the last century? At that time it was said that we lived in the ‘me era’.

So at night, terrible thoughts wander through my head. I engage in long imaginary discussions with people who I think have strayed far from the path. People who may show compassion in their daily interactions but make the most disgusting choices in national and world politics.

What am I to do? After a long silence, I find this text too important, so I put it on my site. Let me speak out… I am not perfect, I do not have all the wisdom, I doubt a lot and find that doubt essential in both my work and my life. I am not one of those artists who preach the truth, but as far as we have now fallen, I think even a blind horse can see.

How should this resonate in my work? Should I talk about painting again? I have to…

What did geniuses like Michelangelo, Da Vinci and Titian think about their patrons? Titian portrayed Pope Alexander VI, a Borgia, who in this painting recommends Jacopo Pesaro to Saint Peter (would Peter have listened to the recommendation of a Borgia?)… Titian must have heard something about this pope and the horrible deeds of his family…

Closer to home, Rembrandt portrayed several members of the Trip family. They were the great arms dealers, so whether they were peaceful people…

You could argue that in those days the role of an artist was different. Caravaggio painted the most pious scenes while he himself was a criminal (and had to be rescued by his clients every now and then). Although, a number of painters were also sent on political missions.

Nowadays many artists pretend to know what is wrong in the world and often report on it in a didactic way. Or they show how absurd everything is, how far above it they are.

I do not wish to belong to either, but if I have to sing my tune, what kind of tune should it be?

Someone who responded in an appropriate way for me was Goya.

For now I paint a tormented face, my FIESTA series (a somewhat vague series of paintings that shows the other side, the violent and insane side of life) and as a counterpart the flowers where I try to show the unique beauty of the world without us know-it-alls, polluters and semi-dictators…

It all reminds me of that famous aria by Bach:

Erbarme dich, mein Gott

Um meiner Zähren willen!

Schaue hier, Herz und Auge

Weint vor dir bitterlich

Erbarme dich, mein Gott

Click on the text to go to the aria.

Februay 25, 2025, Barcelona.