Posts tagged world

No one wants to have anything to do with real painters these days. Winston Churchill was a painter. Picasso was a painter from Spain who essentially was exiled to France during the reign of Franco. Guernica, his painting, believe it or not, is probably somewhere at the United Nations in New York. In July, 2001, I began a work of writing called the History-Project about a group of academics put together by the Canadian government to try and figure out why there was this sort of fog of terror and fear hanging over the island of Montréal. In the novel, I invented characters that did special work in new fields I intended as pure fiction. I was the laughing stock of many. I spent most of my youth in psych wards and hospitals. The main character in the novel was named Alphonse, he was a schizophrenic painter. I am a Loyalist at heart to Her Majesty, by law and by choice. My portrait of an old stamp bearing an effigy of her in her youth is kept in a secret place, for I cannot risk having my portraits used against the purposes of their creator. My political beliefs are closer now to those of President George W. Bush, however, because it was in New York that those planes crashed. My parents used to say amongst themselves, Do you remember what you were doing when Elvis Presley died? President Kennedy? I wonder where I was when Nelson Mandela was released from a life in prison. John of the Cross and Teresa of Avila are not just saints. John of the Cross spent 9 months in prison tortured by Catholics, the ones who ordained him a minister. It was the Counter-Reformation these “mystics” were fighting, the desire to seek out a “New World”, for they saw into the far distant future, what was at stake. But we stand now to overcome great hardship and triumph over evil once and for all. One cannot chose camps or compete for World Peace. I cannot paint anymore. Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon is in New York. The Manhattan Project, that’s where game theory basically was born. Anyone remember A Beautiful Mind, John Forbes Nash? I was stigmatized in my society and it has only gotten worse. Everyone wanted to be “crazy” like me.. I was never crazy, just sick.. Now the only safe haven for me is in a hospital, and I am going in peace to the hospital where I was born. I cannot undo history. I tried to do a thing called free enterprise. We are lucky to have what we have, and I have nothing. I am penniless and now, though I am healthier than I have ever been, my heart has caved in. I prayed to a statue of the Virgin Mary last night, crying like an imbecile, in public. I risked being stopped by the police for transgressing the new secular public laws. I am ashamed to wear a cross, but I bear so many.

The Heart… I wrote my autobiography in 4 days in January, 2007, it is called Le Coeur Seul, which I translate as Only the Heart Knows Truth.. I still believe in World Peace, but not in my lifetime, and not on earth, most likely. But I cultivate peace in my heart. Jacques-Louis David, the painter of The Death of Marat, was also Minister of Propaganda, if you will, during the Reign of Terror. Need I say more? Hang the paintings, or at least buy them, or at least let painters have the right to exercise their will, the right to free enterprise. Don’t hang painters and don’t burn icons or churches. Don’t burn anything down, please. I can’t even afford to buy the Pope’s new book on his vision of Jesus of Nazareth. I am not safe here. I have seen too much. I cannot do more, watch my little video. I am lost to myself, and my heart bleeds no more. I am frozen is a prison-state of paralysis and sorrow, frozen music of Gothic Cathedrals, which I saw when I read physics textbooks in high school, in English. Be informed before you destroy the work of others. No one is out to get you. I thought they wanted me and found out they didn’t, or they just didn’t notice I was dying of starvation. Cultivate the field, whatever it is.. My field was burnt down. I have nothing left. I don’t even have my paintings and I lack the funds and the energy to get them back. So God speed, friends, I am spending the winter somewhere, in exile.. Or I will declare myself in need of refuge as a political exilic. I am in exile in my own home, anyway, exilé dans ma patrie, and it hurts real bad to see y’all cultivating terror inside your chest. I have been liberated from fear, I, a paranoid schizophrenic. Be kind to presidents, cause if a man does not trust his leader, then how can he trust his neighbor or himself? I call for silence, I call for inaction, a day of frozen life, a vanitas painting to let God know we’re still trying. Or at least show someone the desire to learn..

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