Today I went to the acclaimed Anselm Kiefer exhibit at the RA. ~ I Loved it ~ But why?
Fascism ~ Hitler ~ War ~ Suffering ~ Darkness ~ Blood ~ Death ~ Hell ~ Fire ~ Judgement ~ Lifeless Dead Sunflowers ~ Redundancy ~ Desimation ~ Ashes . . . Dust ~ Clay ~ Earth ~ Texture keeping it real ~ Soil ~ Layers ~ Stone ~ Bricks ~ Coloumns ~ Towers ~ Architecture ~ Tainting ~ Hauntingly Echoing the Land ~ Fields ~ Roots ~ Branches ~ Trees ~ Woods ~ Grain ~ Wheat ~ Golden ~ Sand ~ Glass ~ Snow ~ Beauty ~ Truth ~ Life ~ Purity.
Pain ~ The whole of existence Compressed into The Hell of Suffocating Ash ~ Crushed to Bleak Nothingness ~ So devastating and decimated that the Nothingness becomes death ~ hardened ~ erect ~ crushed. And in the crushing hardness dying ~ death ~ dead gets amalgamated by alchemy ~ thrusting the last hardness glacial Sublime ~ Matter-Soul-Spirit-Strength ~ Mind-Blowing ~ Overbearing ~ Compression and Explosion into a Shimmering Glittering ~ Heavenly Transcendental ~ ((((((O r g a s m))))))) ~ casting Pure Diamonds in its crushing wake. A Diamond Golden Shower of (((((((Ecstasy))))))) ~ Reigning Light ~ Unimaginable Imaginable ~ Invisible Visible ~ Echoing the Stars ~ the Night Diamonds ~ the Universe ~ the Cosmos ~ the Wonder ~ the Creation ~ Created ~ Creator ~ Matter ~ Liquid ~ Light.
This is what I saw. (A quick flick through my eyes) and the connections beyond the exhibits, that my mind made.
Winter Landscape 1970 (the year I was born)
Look at the sublimely delicate colours.
Looking at these paintings you are transported ~ Innocent blood spilled ~ war ~ pain ~ death. But I saw something other ~ child ~ woman ~ the blood of menstruation ~ the snow of virgin ~ the death of innocence ~ the birth of adulthood ~ the bleeding heart ~ the fatal wounding ~ Love ~ new shoots of greenery pushing through the soil ~ the snow Life.
Then look at this one of Virginia Wolfe.
Compare this watercolour to Bernini’s Teresa of Avila.
I Loved the water colours ~ so much ~ but most especially I Loved the beautiful French Cathedral sketches. Cathedral Architecture mirroring the arc’s of the female form. Explicitly beautiful. His insight to have made the connections and to have realised them was just breath-taking.
His artwork is Poetic.
Anselm says ~ “I think in poetry there’s more reality than real life – for me poems are reality. For this reason the poem is already something I refer to, because it’s for me real, and also a kind of nostalgia with me because I would like to be a poet, I cannot, but I would like to be a poet.”
Word made Flesh.
His creations try to emanate the ultimate. They in their poetry succeed especially in the Cathedral series ~ eliminating the gap between word and flesh. But for me these works will never last longer than the longest life of the material itself, and its eventual organic demise ~ or even the demise of it in my own mind ~ where it will eventually end with my own demise ~ this all becomes gloomily evident in the towering wasteland of his in situ installations . . . . .
We realise that Time is on the Wing
and then unexpectedly as if by astounding revelation there’s suddenly another clarity
when . . . .
. . . . we reach a huge beautiful diamond encrusted canvas.
And then you just know . . . that Kiefer made the perfect leap ~ For these organic canvases capture and hold the eternal. And one can only stand before the light flickering and dancing on the diamonds, in absolute Awe and Wonder before Anselm’s work,
Anselm Kiefer’s inspirations glitter throughout his work; poets, philosophers, writers artists, scientists, Catholicism and God. And when artists are inspired all manner of possibilities are created ~ and all manna of imagination becomes imagined.
‘Under the lime-tree on the heath
My love and I reclined an hour.
If someone looks, he
May find beneath
Remains of broken grass and flower.
Near the forest, in a vale,
Merrily sang the nightingale.
Under the lime tree on the heather,
Where we had shared a place of rest,
Still you may find there,
Flowers crushed and grass down-pressed.
Beside the forest in the vale,
Sweetly sang the nightingale.
Beneath a linden, in its shade,
Beside the heath, our couch we made;
And, should you near that spot, you’ll find
Bruised flowers and grass we left behind.
On forest edge, down in a vale –
Happy the day!
There sang so sweet the nightingale.
Under the lime-tree, on the daisied ground,
Two that I know of made their bed;
There you may see, heaped and scattered round,
Grass and blossoms, broken and shed,
All in a thicket down in the dale;
Sweetly sang the nightingale.’
I N S P I R E D
If you want to be fully spent ~ get inspired.
And then go to the Anselm Kiefer exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art ~ Its on into December.