Painting as an existence

CYB — August 2002

A painting is like an existence in shorthand, in concentrate. The completion of the painting is like its death: at last the whole takes on meaning. “Such as into himself at last eternity changes him.” The ensemble of elements makes sense.

The painter’s position is twofold — this is fascinating, instructive, astonishing. I am at once the existing being, who makes decisions, chooses directions, colours, without knowing in advance what meaning they will ultimately hold. And yet with each decision I aim for a meaning, I have an intention, precise: this small piece of yellow must stand out clearly from this red and this blue, without anything overflowing, nothing blurred — this is vital. Painting unfolds as a succession of important details, of balance, of contrasts to be conquered, without my ever knowing what meaning this particular care I have given to this balance, to this contrast, will have in the painting as a whole.

This is the very experience of the existing being who does not know where the decision of the moment will lead. There is a risk at every moment. At every moment one must decide, take a direction, a straight line, a curve, a colour, even though the intended contrast may in the end be invisible, covered by other layers of paint, by other future decisions, and thus as if lost.

This is also what always surprises. The energy given to a detail, to a border, to a relief is as if forgotten in the end, covered over, lost. Everything takes on another meaning. And yet this new meaning that marks the completion of the painting was built from all those moments, all those risks, all those precise aims. Perhaps this is the reason there is a density to the painting: it is a story in its very construction, it is a condensation, a concentrate of existence, a journey of existence, in its joys, its torments, its losses, its happy apparitions.

The painter’s position is twofold because he is this existing being who lives his freedom intensely at every moment, but at the same time he is like God who interrupts the journey. He decides on death — that is, the completion of the painting.

But the death of the painting is also its eternity. Through the encounter with the other, with others. The whole has taken on meaning, the painter has nothing more to add, the painting enters into dialogue with those who behold it.