Some thirty years ago
in a kind of socialism
in the southeast of something

if you haven’t been to the art school
the other cool kids wouldn’t tell you
how to ground your canvas
it’s kind of strange but so it was

luckily, I had a friend who thought me how to do it
he studied under this most interesting professor
so I got hold of
a very precious formula

for years and years to come
I kept the secret little paper
close to my heart

. .

Some thirty years ago
I looked for small galleries
to show and sell my work
the answer was always the same:
only for academic painters
whatever that meant

from the outside
I wondered
what do these guys have
that I don’t

it seemed they used some kind of mental stencils
each new work was nearly the same as the previous one
a little bit different
but in the essence
it was just more of the same
paint your wife and horse's head
one thousand and three hundred sixty seven times
add a bit of red and gold
whatever gets you through the night

It was at that time
that it slowly started to show

I wrote some things about green birds and snakes
jumping out of my mouth

each new drawing I made
was different

. .

Some thirty years ago
I learned about this great artist
master of metamorphosis

at the time he was about sixty
but he waved his sword like he was forty

I knocked on his door and said
I am a young artist and you are my god.
He looked at me beneath those eyebrows
and after a short consideration answered
Well, in that case, you better get in.

And so here I was
privileged and lucky
enjoying this unusual friendship

it was end of eighties
soon the nineties came
and darkness fell
all over the place

but before it did
we had some time
for coffee and cigarettes

one such day, the A-word flew out of my mouth
with all the pretentiousness and naivety
of a young apprentice

Being wise and noble
a true blue blood
my friend and teacher
immediately knew what I was aiming at

He answered gently:

The true art
is a single mother
making ends meet.

 

 

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