The Wizard of Morelia has suggested that I need to suffer in order to be an Artist. She is a very wise wizard and I have taken her advice to heart. Although I must admit that her suggestion that I try to draw with my foot didn’t turn out well.
Then I remembered I had these two films I had bought at Cafe Etc on Michangelo and Gauguin. As I watched I was shocked that Michangelo and Paul Gauguin were considered artists. Michangelo was very untidy. In his personal life, Ascanio Condivi said that he “often slept in his clothes and … boots.” His biographer Paolo Giovio says, “His nature was so rough and uncouth that his domestic habits were incredibly squalid. He had a reputation for being bizzarro e fantastico because he “withdrew himself from the company of men.”
And Gaugin died of syphilis before he could start the prison sentence. His body had been weakened by alcohol and a dissipated life. He was 54 years . I am not prepared to get syphilis again just to be an artist
Then I read he was friend of Vincent Van Gogh. More shock. He suffered from anxiety and increasingly frequent bouts of mental illness throughout his life, and died largely unknown, at the age of 37, from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. On 23 December 1888, frustrated and ill, Van Gogh confronted Gauguin with a razor blade. In panic, Van Gogh left their hotel and fled to a local brothel. While there, he cut off the lower part of his left ear lobe. He wrapped the severed tissue in newspaper and gave it to a prostitute named Rachel, asking her to “keep this object carefully.” Gauguin left Arles and never saw Van Gogh again. Days later, Van Gogh was hospitalized and left in a critical state for several days.
No wonder so many artists wear floppy berets to cover their lopped of ear. I stopped reading about any other artists as these three men had some ISSUES
So I headed out to the Jardin and was very lucky to find a dead man on one of the iron benches.
I sat for him for a while but realized that he wasn’t suffering much if he was dead but then he woke up and his wife started to talk.
I took back the fact I didn’t think he was suffering.
Then I went to pick up my laundry. All I had was pencil marks on my shirts but I wasn’t going to be as untidy as Michangelo. In the Lavanderia was a bulletin board full of such suffering I could not imagine -people with unrented houses and apartments, Expats who need legal advice to get their FM3 and expats who could not speak a word of spanish and more. I could read no more. I now knew what suffering was.
Little did I know that when I came home I would find even more suffering. Someone had suggested I look at the Civil List and when I did there was the suffering I was looking for – fear of being mugged, fear of Mexican noise, fear of FM3s – the list went on and on.
Every day I will look at the Civil List to find my suffering and inspiration for my Art.