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.