Packed my lunch, volkornbrot sandwiches of Voralburg cheese and prosciutto, a few glazed oranges, chocolate and water and set out for the Museum Quarter this morning. Ate between museums out in the major courtyard. For the most part this is new since I’ve been to Vienna.
I 'm drawn to the works that appear raw, in process, just made. Studies, the under drawing in paintings – lines of proposal. Wonder what Kokoschka and Klimt; Giacometti and Seurat would think; my copying their work with an iphone in the Leopold.
Even with Brushes’ finesse, there is no literal depth. None of Giacometti’s gooeyness to be had, no scraped edges of paint, pencil riding on top, then nudged under by pigment. I tried over and over. One’s own physical limits, what you can hold while standing, narrow options considerably (marking tools near art, a risky proposition). A box of oily pastels begs a third hand or at least a few extra fingers. I did break out pencil and pen as well; can never get too far away.
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