Jean-Paul Opperman (1980, Holland) — text date: June 8 2010
If I choice art I believe in it with my life, If I wanted to save it I decided to protect it. For me the creation of art is nothing but a treasure to keep with me on a daily base, be happy with it, be oh so sad, make jokes about, as a friend and often as a enemy.
Art is a thought non can reveal, blessed with hope on a great future in good days, filled with terror and depressions on some moments in our life. I studied art and I remember just as much from it as I forgot. Rietveld Academy Amsterdam, very grey for me, but Art could use some dislogical colors.
What I wrote where the words of a kid, what I wished for was a warm embrace, what I get is a combination; a idiotic concept of mental behavior as a vowel of the artistic small truths, art is certain way of love. Cultural disagreement with history or acts; wisdom of the public.
A dance, a hesitation; a weak moment a lost tale of pleasure — a provoked mind when there is not much to tell. I feel so much, I’m so thankful for the gift within my eyes. Follow nature; to study the sun. Let yourself become alive.
To drink milk and to dream away as if being within a magic river seeing an island grow. Light a joyful impression of a land where non would go. Art is a way to love your childhood, Art is a way to make visible how much our inner hell also needs to be seen, its a good day and a little blood. I love to make visible, to gain access to what has been hidden; to kiss it and forget I did. We leave art behind…it’s for the public, not for the money, not for being famous, it’s the artist who needs to forget…
The wall of fame; a goat hanging on a cave, charcoal and respect, art is our visual history from which each art maker is a member and each individual has its own eyes to share or disorder from. Art is the dance of life with small compassion, for some political or made with religion, for me a joke, a wish a treasure to deal with and mostly a demonstration of the ego that won of our childhood while we know that only the show of an object is true for the area it’s in. Art is for the moment, and leaves my home to be the moment for the other — in a gallery, maybe rotten in past time or a Museum. All ways are good, communicate.
Many said it has died, no future no goal, nothing new; but why would it? Art is our inner flower and it grows by rain and sun, ready to make you cry or smile. In both ways it’s poetry of life and always new and there every day again, no reasons or actions to follow, no train to hold, plane to catch or dream to leave in disbelief. When you move you see the Earth turn, when you close your eyes you see dark; when you create you see time and what you left behind you, art is decoration of the mind; a parade through a Floriade — to share with the world where it is needed.
Love,
Jean-Paul Opperman
