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RB Kitaj

K itajara always been a nomad. Being almost a teenager worked on a freighter in the South Seas, and later after the Second World War took off to Europe. Came to Vienna where he began to discover the great European paintings. Years later in London, showed the way to Hamilton, Hockney, Allen Jones on the eve of British Pop Art. Kitaj

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develop a pictorial language itself, blending the cultural background of an insatiable reader, with their eagerness to see the world in which he dived, taking from it the most diverse references, with its unique ability to reinterpret history painting.

Throughout his life was an inevitable reference for the subsequent European and American figurative movements, but never agree to belong to none.

criticism in the United States never forgave him for his detachment, and its independence and made it pay by placing it in a wrong step the quality of his work. But never cared Kitaj, was more comfortable with the title of artist cursed.

Kitaj personally discovered in the 80's in Madrid. I still remember the impact that I was the picture of "The Greek from Smyrna." He had several ingredients for this, first an unusual format, exaggerated vertical, on the other characters captivating composition of looks sparse distributed in various areas linked by a descending staircase. I remember feeling the need to concoct a story to assemble all the elements of that picture.

Later I read what was written on Kitaj's own this picture in the catalog of one of his exhibitions at the Tate Gallery in London "This portrait of my friend Nikos Stangos was inspired by his compatriot, the Greek poet Cavafy and his descriptions of his daily walk in the brothels of the port of Alexandria. I had just returned to London from my only trip to Greece, which lasted a few days, and then he posed for me in the attitude of passers. I told my strange Stangos unconsummated wander through the port of Piraeus, imitating Cavafy. Therefore the table refers to the two poets and myself. "

This was a common way to develop your pictures, inventing characters and a story linking them. He himself said que envidiaba a los grandes novelistas como Dickens, Dostoievski o Kafka, capaces de forjar personajes memorables.

El griego de Esmirna. Óleo sobre lienzo 76,2x243,8 cm

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The man who decided to be a statue

U n día alguien se acercó a mi, pero ni él ni yo dijimos nada, permaneció mirándome, así de medio lado, con la cabeza levemente girada. Yo inconscientemente me detuve y ninguno de los dos nos atrevimos a mirarnos de frente. Así es que los dos, por cierto con abrigo de lana gris, estábamos en diagonal respecto al sentido de nuestra marcha, inmóviles. Yo sentía que la gente miraba sorprendida, with furtive glances because the tension in our bodies was such that no one dared to stand or stare. I remember it was a cold day, a day almost black and white. Time passed and neither he nor I seemed willing to take any initiative.
Despite its cold, this proximity was comforting and I assumed that he was the same. That night it rained, it was a slow and steady rain. A strange warm rain that drenched us, and we entered by way of purification. At dawn, with the first traffic noise and urgency of the people, we feel that the eyes were somewhat more daring or at least were impregnated some familiarity. Some curious passers-by with less haste and watched us slowly, now without fear. So the days elapsed and the brief comments of the people and their eyes open and were part of that city. I can not deny that this sense of usefulness, so lacking in my previous life, we are heartened and encouraged us to continue in that position and in that place.
now spent time with the arrival of spring, tourists come to take pictures, throwing his arm around our shoulders, hugging children and our legs and not a dog ... so everyday situations in the furniture urban.

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E ste text Julio Cortazar that always seemed impressive, was used for some time to SEAT to announce Seat Leon. Despite the cuts in the text and seems to me a shocking announcement .

PREAMBLE TO THE INSTRUCTIONS FOR WINDING THE CLOCK:

Think about this: when they give you a clock giving you a little hell of flowers, a wreath of roses, a dungeon of air. Not only giving you the watch, happy birthday and hope it will last because it is a good brand, Swiss, seventeen Ruby, not just giving you this minute stonecutter which will bind to the wrist and walk along with you. They give you "do not know, how terrible is that they do not know," giving you a new fragile and precarious piece of yourself, something that is yours but not your body, to be tied to your body like your belt as a desperate little arm hanging from your wrist. They give you the need to wind it every day, the obligation to wind to keep it a watch, they give you the obsession of looking at the exact time in the windows of stores in the announcement on the radio, the service phone. They give you the fear of losing it, you steal it, they'll fall on the ground and break. They give you their brand, and security that is a better brand than the others, give you the impulse to compare your clock with other clocks. Not giving you a watch, you are given, offered to you for the birthday of the clock.

full text appears in the book "Tales from cronopios and Famas"

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Julio Cortazar was my flood, but not my boat

L lovi torrents and the water had already covered buildings, mountains and any glimmer of land. It was my flood but not my boat, I realized quite heavy because an individual, a man named Noah, was merely asking for my boarding ticket to leave the seat open, which apparently belonged to another passenger. There were animals everywhere producing a deafening noise. So sick of all this bustle, I gave a pigeon an olive shoot, and left the boat, to go immediately to open the drain. At the end of the day the flood was mine.