Spar-SE, like its opposite den-SE, is that kind of word you can’t describe exactly. It’s a cheeky adjective, you wouldn’t use it much. You’d rather to scatter few attempts first. Scanty, sporadic, infrequent perhaps are better choices. Widely spaced, thinly distributed little (or big) objects, to give you a sense of space. A sense of isolation, loneliness for the items spotted in the great white (or black) of all that emptiness.
It was the explosion of colours that attracted me the most, but more important it is the source of inspiration that the artist, found on Art Web by chance, had for this incredibly meaningful piece. This is ekphrasis or meta-art, as in art inspired by art. It is all it means. Nothing more. Enjoy in full.
Inspired by David Hockney etchings who was inspired by W. Stevens Poem who was inspired by P. Picasso’s ” The old Guitarist”
"Every night I come here, in this cafe to wash away all the bastardly ways he's found to describe me as a whore. The reasons are vary and the most important one is that I'm miserably alone. The society out there is something unbearable, even if there is a growth, it seems it's going backwards in me. This bastard here doesn't even cast a glance at me. He's just cold-shouldering. Well, I must be ugly and disgusting, am I? He must think I'm one of those ladies. Has he spoken with my husband by chance? After all, how could I blame him? The desolation is stuck in my eyes. My presence here is useless.
Don't worry, I'm fine. I'm sitting here hopelessly, helplessly, powerlessly, but I'm fine, really. Perhaps, wearing a hat in a public place, might be inappropriate and I might look in a hurry, ready to quaff and go, but I am not. I will probably stay here all night, having a lot of thoughts of my pathetic, curblike existence. Also my shadow, behind me, seems to ignore my real shape. It's not defined. Perhaps it's reflecting my non-definition, my tired body, my heavy limbs.
I am not an alcoholic, you know, but this nectar is just before my lazy eyes. I'm just staring at it. It may yet be some of use to me, it may help, at some point. The power is clear in this green liquid, although dull and turbid.
Garçon? Fill it up right to the top, s'il vous plaît."
Political artists maybe? Where the politics ends and art starts? How thin is the threshold? Is this a solid line between the two or are there some gaps? Perhaps a dotty lines like this ........................... will solve all our doubts.
Seriously, art and images are really more powerful than words, especially in politics. Art is indeed powerful even in peaceful situations, and when it comes to depict the horrors of a war or a vicious political debate, it's the best way to provoke awareness. I know the feeling that takes a cartoonist or a photo journalist to a certain point where your guts have the power on you, on your capacity to express disgust of what you see, through your art. On the other hand, when it comes to make art, it's a different matter. The art's purpose should be spread beauty and provoke something in your guts that are far from awareness of corruption, poverty, warfare and so on. How artists can manage they unconscious reactions and feelings towards what happens around them, is not our business, but definitely it's something we can only see through their art. The way they face all the political issues, social disruptions and harsh realities, is something that fascinates me until the point to investigate about their socio-political background, finding out the real meaning behind those lines, colours and violent paint strokes.
A taste of what I'm talking about: I've bumped into an interesting website earlier this week called Cartoon Movement where artworks depict social and political issues without favoritisms and with a hint of sarcasms, wisely reviewed. www.cartoonmovement.com
What if, for once, the painting itself, or the people in it, would tell us a story? A story of art, architecture, history, something happened at that time, in the painting. Maybe something in the past within a social-political background that we ignored. Maybe we haven't paid attention to THAT detail or the artist's point of view. The real, genuine, blunted opinion of who was living a social life far from what we are living today, within a background that has influenced the painting itself, people portrayed in it, people outside of it, the whole art world.
It is not only a matter of peeping people.
Demoiselle no.5 has her say
"...It's not just modeling, you know, it's about freedom. I'm stuck here since 1907 with no pants and a face that I barely recognise as mine. And I'm supposed to stay here in these conditions for ever. When I was figuratively born, in this room, on this canvas, I thought for a second it would have been easy for me: having a look around, having my says, have something to eat, etcetera. But it wasn't. He gave me four more friends and you know what? I'm the most uncompleted and the ugliest one! No, wait a minute, this one next to me is the ugliest.
I know we are not in Paris anymore. I'm not sure I'm gonna like this new place though. Despite these women around me, I feel alone. I have seen a woman with him. She's very young and pretty. It seems he was inspired by her whilst painting one of us. Not me for sure. I've also seen this subversive poet with him. They must be friends. They are both Don Juan. I can observe without interferring, i can see the passion, the fights, the violence. I can see and look at the disappointed faces around the studio, not saying a word. I have the beneficial negation of speak.
My legs are hurting a bit. It's the position I suppose. Also my neck is in pain. My body is not very rounded like a woman's should be. Even a woman like me, you know, THAT kind of woman, deserve a harmonic body. We are different. We are angular, hence hostile. That's why on our face there's a hint of disapproval."