This is one of my first memory related to 'art'.
It was probably on a Sunday. I went to visit the Fine Arts Museum of Brussels with my parents. I must have been 7, 8 years old? There we were, in the permanent collection. Full of treasures that I couldn't truly understand, inside this huge classical impressing building. The only thing I really wanted to do was to actually touch one of the paintings. Oh, I knew very well that it was forbidden, but the attraction was suddenly too strong. Slowly and quietly, I spotted the perfect victim for my little chubby hands, slipped one or two fingers behind the glass case, and finally was feeling the material. What a relief.
The alarm went on straight away, and I knew I was guilty. Blushing.
Now obliged to keep closer to my parents, I strolled around, going from paintings to paintings, not really knowing what to look for... Why were all those adults spending so much time staring at something while I could look at it and pass to another one in a few seconds?
And then, something caught my eye.
|Henri Matisse, La Femme au chapeau, 1905|
It was probably not this exact work of art, but the feeling was the same. I gazed at that painting. A woman. Her face was painted very bright colors. Very different bright colors, all over.
"This is what emotion looks like. This is really what people look like" I told myself.
I could see those colors on people's faces. All the time.
Blue. Green. Red. Yellow. A mosaic of colors. And there it was. At the sight of everybody.
The truth revealed.
I only learnt later that it was a Henri Matisse work of art.
Since then, I discovered "H.M"'s other works, paintings, collages, universe. Since then, he always had a very special place in my heart. I can recognize his line, his signature, his mind, his soul, his laughter, his heart in every creation of his.
"La vérité n'est pas l'exactitude"
"Avant, quand je ne savais pas quelle couleur mettre, je mettais du noir. Le noir, c'est une force: je mets mon lest en noir pour simplifier la construction. Maintenant, je laisse des noirs."
"Il y a des fleurs partout pour qui veut bien les voir" - H. Matisse