I
lived several years in Venice in a very beautiful palace on the
Grand Canal and the obsession to paint it held me even longer.
But I thought that contemporary expression never had succeeded
in capturing something of its magic without falling into easy
exoticism or vulgarity. (Turner and Monet were the last beautiful
gazes upon the city). To avoid the pitfalls, I had recourse to
the theatricity of a Venice which did not exist, which would be
my mental place with all its openings populated by spectra contemplating
in "Venice the Red" a motionless and deserted gondola.
A remote firework lighting briefly the end of the fête.
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