Fresh fragments: early clues of the next exhibition
A fragment straight from the studio: colour, texture and the first clues of December’s exhibition.
“I paint as I breathe.” — Pablo Picasso
Introduction
Friday calls for revelations. Not all of them, of course — any artist worth their salt knows suspense is also raw material. So here it is: the first bite of what’s to come in the next exhibition.
A detail that tells a story
In the photo you see the hand, the fresh paint, the knife carving the canvas. It’s not a pose, it’s process. And if it shows only a corner, it’s because the full work can’t leave the studio yet. Secrets paint too.
The first canvases
They’re growing in thick, almost sculptural layers. Greens that feel like jungle, oranges that wink like fire. Texture begging you to touch it (no, you can’t). It’s the physical side of painting — gesture, body, sweat — that you sometimes forget when all you see is a tidy canvas on a wall.
Why show it now?
Because the exhibition is already breathing, and you deserve a taste. It’s like lifting the lid before the stew is ready: you know it still needs time, but you can’t resist peeking.
Closing
👉 The artsy moral of the tale: this is just the first fragment. Until December, the blog will keep dropping fresh clues.
How to choose between canvas and paper: a simple guide not to get lost in the art shop
A quick, witty, and direct guide to avoid getting lost between canvases and papers at the art shop.
“Art does not reproduce what we see. It makes us see.” — Paul Klee
You walk into the art store. The plan was simple: grab “something to paint on.” Half an hour later you’re still frozen between canvases, smooth papers, textured papers, thick, thin, cheap, pricey… and already considering pretending you forgot your wallet.
Canvas or paper? That is the question
The dilemma is old. Canvas has prestige, instantly screams “serious art.” Paper is democratic, versatile, slips into any folder. Both have their charm — but it helps to know what each is good for.
When to choose canvas
You want your piece to last for decades without yellowing.
You’re working with oil or acrylic (paper suffers with that).
You love the irregular texture that gives depth to color.
You want to hang the work directly, no frame needed.
You need to feel like a “studio painter,” even if just on Sundays.
When to choose paper
You like experimenting with watercolor, gouache, graphite, or pastels.
You enjoy the freedom to tear, glue, fold.
You don’t have room to store canvases (paper stacks).
You want something cheaper for tests or quick series.
You know Picasso sketched on paper too — and it worked out fine for him.
Survival tip in the art store
If you still freeze in the weight-and-texture aisle: buy both. Worst case, you’ll discover you’re a mixed-media artist without even trying.
Closing
👉 The artsy moral of the tale: canvas impresses, paper frees. It’s like choosing between wine and coffee — each has its moment.
10 things a paintbrush thinks when left in a glass of water
The secret diary of a paintbrush forgotten in water: 10 tragicomic thoughts you’ll never un-hear again.
“Things have a life of their own. It’s simply a matter of waking up their souls.” — Gabriel García Márquez
You forget the paintbrush in the water. For you it’s nothing. For the brush? Pure tragedy. Between bubbles and fading pigments, it’s living a drama no one ever exhibits.
10 soggy thoughts of a forgotten paintbrush
This isn’t a spa, it’s medieval torture.
If I were wine, you’d have saved me already.
I’m dissolving… goodbye dignity.
Oh look, bubbles! … wait, that’s me dying.
That smug toothbrush is laughing at me.
I’m the one who needs therapy here, not you.
When I dry, you’ll cry for every fine line lost.
Should’ve been a pencil… they never drown.
You call this creative process? Looks more like IKEA punishment.
Next time, leave me on the easel… at least I’ll die standing.
Closing
👉 Bottom line, with paint still wet: never underestimate the drama of a soaked brush.
Minimalist sculpture: simple or deceptive?
Minimalist sculpture may look simple, but it hides radical choices and an almost obsessive focus on the essential.
Refined lines, silence in wood and iron.
Refined lines, silence in wood and iron.
“Less is more.” — Ludwig Mies van der Rohe
Minimalist sculpture may seem, at first glance, simple. Clean lines, stripped forms, no unnecessary decoration. But is it really that straightforward?
👉 The illusion of simplicity
A casual glance might think: “Anyone could do this.” Yet the hard part is reaching the essential without falling into monotony. Cutting, reducing, refining… until only what truly matters remains.
👉 The dialogue between void and form
In sculpture, empty space isn’t absence — it’s part of the work. The void shapes the volume, creates tension, and suggests presences that are not there but can almost be felt.
👉 Why deceptive?
Because behind every “simple” line lies a set of radical choices: what stays and what disappears. Formal economy demands an almost obsessive attention.
👉 Want to see how minimalism takes shape?
Browse the In the gallery to discover the full collection.
And if you’d like to explore the pieces (still) available for purchase, visit the Minimal Abstract Figurativism page
👉 The café conclusion
Minimalism isn’t laziness. It’s risk, precision, and trust in letting the essential speak for itself.
5 things you should never say to an artist
Five seemingly innocent phrases that can make an artist want to throw the brush out the window.
“An artist is someone who sells what he no longer has.” — Picasso (with his trademark irony)
We all know that friend who thinks they’re being nice… but says the worst possible thing.
To avoid deadly stares and awkward silence, here are 5 gems you should never say to an artist:
“Can you actually make a living from this?”
(Thanks for the concern… now excuse me while I eat my canvas with acrylic sauce.)“But how long did it take you?”
(As if the value was in the stopwatch and not the creation. Spoiler: this isn’t Uber Eats.)“My kid could do that too.”
(Congrats to your kid. Maybe they’re a genius. Or maybe you just don’t get it.)“Can you give me a discount?”
(Sure, and you happily take half your paycheck, right?)“I could do that myself.”
(Then… why didn’t you?)
👉 The no-fluff takeaway
Respect the artist, enjoy the work — and if you can’t think of anything smart to say, just compliment the color.
Picasso: genius or master illusionist?
Picasso: undeniable genius or master illusionist? Between the revolutionary artist and the salesman of his own myth, the truth might be somewhere in between.
Pablo Picasso, 1950s. Photograph by André Villers.
“It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.” — Pablo Picasso
Was Picasso a genius or simply a brilliant illusionist?
The question stings, because it shakes the pedestal we’ve placed him on.
On one side, the undeniable genius:
He reinvented himself through multiple styles, from the Blue Period to Cubism.
He broke conventions and opened the doors to what we now call contemporary art.
He created iconic works that even people who dislike art still recognize.
On the other, the master illusionist:
He knew how to provoke, shock and grab attention like few others.
He sold himself (and us) the idea that any line he drew was art.
He turned his persona into a spectacle — and that also has a price.
Gertrude Stein, who knew him in Paris, once said:
“He is Spanish, you know… and for a Spaniard, the world is a stage.”
And the critic Robert Hughes put it bluntly:
“Picasso was as much a salesman as a painter. But maybe that was the secret of his greatness.”
👉 What remains is this delicious ambiguity: Picasso was both artist and performer, painter and salesman, genius and illusionist. Maybe that’s what makes him eternal — you simply can’t put him in a single box.
And you? When you look at a Picasso, do you see genius, trickery, or both at once?
👉 The artsy moral of the tale
Picasso may have sold illusions, but maybe that’s his greatest talent: convincing us that art is more than paint on canvas — it’s also the story we choose to believe.
What is art, really?
What is art, really?
It’s not just galleries and white walls.
Sometimes it’s a doodle on a napkin, the silence between two notes… or simply paint-stained hands and hot coffee by your side.
Paint and coffee — the official fuels of creative madness.
“Art is what makes your heart beat faster. Or slower. But never indifferent.” — Anonymous
Art isn’t just museums and white walls.
Art can be the doodle on a napkin, the blurry photo that ends up having more soul than the “perfect” one, or even the silence between two guitar notes.
It’s personal, but also universal.
It’s serious, but it can also be brilliant nonsense.
It’s hard work, but also a stroke of luck.
👉 The trick? It doesn’t need a single definition. What it needs is space for you to breathe and feel.
👉 Bottom line, with paint still wet
Art is anything that makes you stop for a second and think: “Hold on… that moved me.”