Insomnia Induced Surrealism Ramble
Sure my family history is rather colorful, and I was always fascinated to hear the turn of the century stories growing up, but no relative was ever painted by a famous artist, maybe because most of them lived in New Jersey, I don't know for sure.
My wife, on the other hand, could say "my great uncle was painted by Joan Miro, the Spanish surrealist artist and peer of Pablo Picasso,"( Portrait of Vicenz Nubiola 1918, above) but she doesn't, she even shares the same last name, who cares she would say. I would bring it up if I were her, but alas she is unimpressed with celebrity. She casually mentions seeing Salvador Dali walking around her summer vacation town as a child, no big deal.
Is it really only us North Americans who give such importance to being in the presence of fame? Probably not, but in any event, I didn't give a damn about seeing Michael Richards, Kramer of Seinfeld, in the flesh, however the preceding names seem in another league to me. Maybe being around them would allow some of the brilliance would rub off on me, but what do I know? I'm from Ohio, home of Phyllis Diller, cheap beer, cheap rent, and indian mounds.
The spectacle of the sky overwhelms me. I'm overwhelmed when I see, in an immense sky, the crescent of the moon, or the sun. There, in my pictures, tiny forms in huge empty spaces. Empty spaces, empty horizons, empty plains - everything which is bare has always greatly impressed me. - Joan Miro 1893-1983
You've got to love any artist who named his works things like "The Nightingale's Song at Midnight and the Morning Rain," " Dew Drop Falling from a Bird's Wing Wakes Rosalie, who Has Been Asleep in the Shadow of a Spider's Web," "Ladders Cross the Blue Sky in a Wheel of Fire," and "Stars in Snails' Sexes." If you don't, the sitcom "Becker" is on, go watch it....
................because on Night Planet The Lark's Wing, Encircled with Golden Blue, Rejoins the Heart of the Poppy Sleeping on a Diamond-Studded Meadow.