An eye that sees the other feels *
Yes, yes, everything is math, Vasily, everything is geometry. The music, painting, my painting, Vasily, my painting. The shapes and colors. Look: one, two, three, eleven stripes, rectangles fifteen, thirty square. It 's wonderful, Vasily.
It 's the magic of abstraction, realism, abstraction. We had to get to these results, Vasily. We could not stop our research. You from the microscope, I philosophy, poetry, biology, chemistry.
worked tirelessly for months, years, perhaps forever. Perhaps already painted while I was playing with my mind and my father insisted on my many hours of practice.
9000 works I did, I believe it?. Only in recent months I have painted more than 200.
See, everything is number. When I play, I play numbers, when I paint, paint numbers. I hear them fly, scandium, present an ideal scale, each in a precise place, in order, with their poetic aspect: gangly, round, opinionated. One, eight, three, perfection. And 21. Why
Grohmann, my friend Grohmann, read perfectly in my work. She said, but I do not remember by heart, that "the numbers are written in various square and if you add up those numbers along the horizontal and vertical results match known as the magic square."
understand Vasily, had interpreted my need of harmony through the numbers.
The trip to Tunisia? It was important, more than in Italy.
was then that I felt to be a painter. Not more the music, not more than the violin. Free from the suggestions of my father and my mother.
Free.
The sun, the colors, the light of Tunisia were decisive. They made me change the palette: Coffee in Tunis, Saint Germain at Tunis.
How I loved those villages a bit 'broken, fresh, bright!
The pastel colors I have accompanied a long time. Impossible to separate. If you knew how many times I decided that I would have changed. I returned to them how to spell.
Highway and secondary roads, Separation pm, Toulouse, The three towers.
bands in light colors and then decided, fuses, indicating fatigue of the ascent towards spirituality, towards the infinite.
It was hard work. I was out of the fantastic, a certain magical figure that refers to the dream, the unconscious. We talked all night drinking gin and lemonade. Remember? And Lily interrupted us and told us to stop, that we were wrong. But how could you stop?
We were inexhaustible, tireless. We were young.
Six patients Vasili. The already know these stories and plays yet. But today is different. It's me that I need to remember, to reconstruct the steps in my life and my painting. There quiet today.
I am delirious? Maybe. The disease does not give me peace. I am not longer able to use your hands for those subtle signs, which need delicate care. I know that I will not live long, Vasily. I know it well.
The proximity of death asks you to look carefully into the life, Vasily, is an experience that exceeds any hesitation.
Maybe I've always thought of death, from an early age. L 'over-confidence, which I've often criticized, not was the gift today to address the disease in silence?
The severity of my father, the anxiety that gave me the relationship with him, perhaps, I have never left. The paintings of that time, so close to a child's game, had a way of life "my" children, outside its domain, and the weakness of my mother. I could not fight neither one nor the other.
I loved the music but I had to escape the confrontation. I painted my music. The melody of the color I heard it. Remember Fugue in red?
I had to build a secret world of poetry.
Did I ever tell you of my friendship with Rilke? It was 1916 when I met him. Just the year in which the upheaval of war struck him so that he could not publish for many years. I had already written many poems that he wanted read.
remember that Lily had just given me a collection of Chinese poems. Fascinated by the word "hua" in Chinese and Japanese writing indicates, drawing, painting, discussed it at length with him.
understand the attraction? Being able to unify in one word three times strongly suggest the art.
I never stopped thinking about it, you know.
the Bauhaus, that concept was my line of teaching.
Our adventure at the Bauhaus, Vasily. Ten years exciting, ten years when we believed in the possibility of merging arts and crafts. To cancel the gap with students, to grow a generation of artists according to a new scheme, universal. Remember that it is often said: universal? We know how it ended: humiliated by bullying policy that had nothing to do with art. We were romantic and we were called "intellectual hotbed of Bolshevism."
It was arrogance that made me leave
Arriving in Bern, I felt exiled and orphaned. I painted tirelessly.
I changed the colors. Dark, this time, funds. The colors of those who foretells the end. Who wants to represent his inner journey, Vasily. Square still to be counted, even lines, still no signs of the writer through the design.
I my writings. ntanissimi belong to the times.
I can not write. As you can see the fingers are deformed, the skin ravaged by the disease. I should dictate Lily, but I can not submit even more to the pain of my difficulties.
Everything has a time, Vasily. Today, my privacy is a privilege. It allows me to stay long, closed in my study, compared with my helplessness.
'wing of here I can not grasp. I have both my home and among the dead and the unborn. Closer to the heart of creation than usual, but still not close enough. " **
* how it was described Paul Klee - 1879-1940
** From the Diary of Klee
Mi, 21 March 2006
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