Juan Ponje Miro
"Juan Miró: Women, Birds, Stars" is on display at the Pudong Art Museum in Shanghai, and the title of the exhibition reveals themes from Miró's four decades of artistic career, which culminated in his later works. The director of the Museo de Miró calls Barcelona, Monterocchi and Mallorca the "Miro Triangle", representing architecture, inspiration and art respectively. If Miró had gone to other cities, would his art have changed? Joan Punyet Miró, Miro's grandson, follows in Miró's footsteps with Miró and the Mediterranean Atmosphere and takes art lovers up close and personal with the wondrous world created by this curious old boy.
Pudong Art Museum "Juan Miró: Women, Birds, Stars" exhibition site
From Monet's Impressionism and Sineck's Post-Impressionism, to the Fauvism of Matisse and others, to the Cubism of Picasso and Braque, and the Surrealism of Miró and Dalí, the west coast of the Mediterranean produced the most important art of the 20th century. Juan Miró was born in Barcelona in 1893 and died in 1983 in Palma de Mallorca at the age of ninety.
Miró in 1933. Photo by Man Ray
Through Miró's work, one may be able to glimpse the special influence of the mediterranean hot sun on The Spirit of Miro. Here and now, however, I am not going to begin to discuss the superfluous question of whether Miró's art would change radically if he had gone to other cities, such as Istanbul or Cairo. Nevertheless, we do have some formulations that point directly to the consistency of his artistic provenance. In fact, these expressions are rarely hidden, but are habitually shared with people he has chosen specifically, often with keen artistic sensitivity and talent. For example, on July 31, 1935, he wrote in a letter to Kandinsky about the latter's planned visit to Spain: "You must spend a few days in Barcelona, a very dynamic city with almost zero artistic activity. You're definitely going to the museum to see those amazing original Catalans. Indeed, Catalan art of the 11th and 12th centuries had a great influence on Miró. The artist enriches his radical transformation of biblical illusions with whimsical colors, similar to those used by Kandinsky, but limited by a more cramped space.
Joan Miró, Pedralbes Street, Barcelona, 1917, Musee Miró, Barcelona
In June 1935, the American writer and photographer Carl van Vechten photographed the inspiration of this medieval art to Miró at the Sant Pau del Camp monastery in the countryside. We can feel that Miró must have carefully chosen this location in order to draw the audience's attention to the rough carvings of the stigma and pillars. It is also worth noting that not all of the imagery in the sculptures is sacred, because in some cases there are pagan symbols, humorous figures, and mythical beasts that are intrinsically plain, direct, and rigorous in appealing to Miro. Their presence marks Miró's artistic temperament, providing him with a legendary and poetic Mediterranean heritage that has remained intact for centuries. The history of Catalonia and the authenticity of Catalonia are embodied and projected in this cloister. Miró's intention is undoubtedly to share the pillars of his artistic sensibility through Mediterranean Romanesque painting and architecture, providing a sense of sacred strangeness and instilling in the viewer an ancient visual prose. This particular prose, bursting out from the underground layers of the Catalan and Mediterranean soils, flows directly through Miró's hands into his unique artistic creations.
Joan Joan d'Horta, Barcelona, 1917, Museo miró, Barcelona
In addition to the historical sites, Miró also enjoys walking the streets of Barcelona and immersing himself in the crowds that enliven the city. The flea market is a cluttered with bizarre items, the ramblas are bustling with pedestrians and many elated Catalans. La Sardana is a typical Catalan dance, and every Sunday morning people who perform in front of the cathedral hold hands in a perfect circle, which also has a great attraction for him. Then there's his strong love of urban graffiti. In 1955, Miró brought with him the art critic Rosamond M. Bernier and photographer Brasser traveled to some of his favorite locations in town to take a set of photographic documentaries for the French magazine L'OEil. In one of the pictures, Miró is observing a painting on the wall with as much concentration as he is on Goya's work. The fleeting nature of this urban expression, with the same freshness and humor as a child drawing in chalk, associates Miró with fanatical, sporadic immediacy. When a person freely graffiti on the walls of Barcelona's La Plaza Real with an impulse and unleashes his imagination to the fullest, the situation is enough to remind him of André Berger in Paris in the 1920s. Breton and Philip Su bo's automated writing process while writing their book Les Champs Magnétiques (Magnetic Fields). On the same page of the magazine one can see small folklore figures made of clay, with small brush strokes painted red and green on a white base. These villains, known as siurells, are the same as those of the Mediterranean world two thousand years ago, and their history is related to Crete, Greece and Cyprus. To Miró's fascination, The history of Souler is shrouded in mystery. No one knows their exact origins, as some scholars call them precision toys with whistles, while others insist that they are pagan representatives of a popular culture. But what fascinated Miró was their approachable appearance and their universality along the Mediterranean coast.
From L'OEil, magazine, Miró Museum, 1955 ©
"Don't miss the Maritime Museum." Miro urged Bernier and Brasser that, needless to say, the collection of ancient pulleys in the museum was remarkable. In one photograph, Miró is showing that particularly human-like pulley, two eyes, a nose and a round face, the deformation of which can be found in one of his sculptures. In many of his later sculptures, Miró abandoned the traditional artistic method of modeling and instead adopted the way of assembling and constructing. Thus, this pulley brings great visual wit, highlighting Miró's three-dimensional poetry.
Another constant presence in Miró's art was the quasi-religious and typical modernist architecture of the great genius of Catalonia, Antoni Gaudí. "The famous entrance to the Paris Metro." Miró recalls, "Reminds me of Gaudí, who had such a great influence on me. "Miró and Gaudí are both Catalans, and they have both been ridiculed by their hometowns from the very beginning of their careers. Both artists were ahead of their time, showing living symbolic forms, and even if they had only seen each other in a hurry, they both had an almost mysterious reverence for nature and its life forms. As Da Vinci put it: "The sophistication of man... There will never be an invention more beautiful, simpler or more direct than nature, for in her invention there is nothing lacking, and there is nothing superfluous. In terms of the infinite creative resources that nature bursts out, this passage can also be used to describe the art of Miró and Gaudí. All the superfluous elements will not appear in their final vision. Both artists saw creation as an extension of nature, not allowing their native Catalan sensibility to be overshadowed by the frenetic process of jugmatic misalignment of nature's richness.
Miró's appreciation and respect for Gaudí's art can be seen in a photograph taken in 1945: Juan Miró, Joaquin Gomis, Tini Matisse and Juan Platz on the roof of Casa Batlló's Gaudí-designed apartment in Barcelona. They all stood relaxed, and neither of them seemed to realize that the camera was about to capture them except for Tinnie. Joaquin Gomis was a photographer, and Juan Pratz was a very cultured and sensual man who admired Miró. Gomis and Pratz were Miró's closest friends in Barcelona, and Tini was the wife of Pierre Matisse and Juan Miró's art dealer in New York.
Joaquín Gomis, Juan Miró, Dini Matisse, Juan Platz, Barcelona, 1945. Photograph by Odette Gomis Chabonnier
Again, the choice of this location is not accidental, as it is one of the most striking and colorful masterpieces created by Catalan modernist architects in 1904, and the appearance of the building is like a fairy tale, extraordinary. Miró wanted us to see Gaudí's radical inventions and how the latter applied his imagination to architecture. Compared to the roof of the house, it looked like the back of a dragon, and the dragon's spines stretched straight out into the sky. Gaudí developed a unique mosaic style, painting shards of glass and ceramics on the walls, giving the façade a bizarre color that resembled a reptile's skin, thus providing a magical effect for this almost living building. The arch was also given an iron door that cleverly separated the two sides of the wall. But all of Gaudí's gates have their own unique personalities, which add a natural vitality to his architecture. And we have to remember the word "nature", because one of Gaudí's big obsessions was to avoid straight lines at all costs. As a result, Miró has always been drawn to Gaudí's evoked concepts of "anti-architecture," rendering them with an iconic, anti-academic philosophy that few of his contemporaries have fully grasped.
Miró, Nude in Flames, 1932, Miró Museum, Barcelona
Another important example of the Mediterranean element in Miro's art is all the objects he collected while taking long walks on the beaches of Mont-roig, a small village 100 miles south of Barcelona. Miro is closely linked to the Mediterranean Sea and patiently waits to "harvest" all the magical elements that the waves throw at the coast. In a 1946 photograph taken by Joaquín Gomis, Miró is admiring the root sculpture with two eyes, two arms and a very slender body. "The smallest thing in nature is a complete world." He explained to poet, friend and museum director James Johnson Sweeney, "I found all my subjects in the fields and on the beach. Fragments of anchors, starfish, rudder plates, and tiller shafts, all appear in my compositions, as do the 77 shapes of the mushroom's weird head and gourd. Miró wanted to emphasize the authenticity of this seemingly obsolete, worthless root, which in his eyes could produce unexpected associations and deformations. At first glance, the life force of the root ends as soon as it is detached from the plant, but in Miro's view, when he is connected to its energy and radiance, its life begins, which is the potential power emanating from its core. When Miró allowed this spiritual power to permeate his imagination, he underwent a sudden transformation that directly connected him to the soil of his native Catalonia. Suddenly, this spark ignited the flame in his chest, the cornerstone of his identity, the source of his own religion.
Miro gazes at the roots, Monteroche Beach, 1946, photo by Joaquin Gomis
In the field of sculpture, Miró also became a skilled language manipulator. When referring to his sculptures, the terms "assembled" and "constructed" are most appropriate. An interesting analogy is that in the early 1950s Miró went out with the Swiss photographer Ernst Schedegg to study cacti. We can assume that Miró stored these impressions in his subconscious and subsequently created a bronze sculpture called Maure from a cactus.
Miró, Maure, 1969
Once again, this impulse to visualize the natural elements in the Mediterranean vegetation provided inspiration for his artistic will. Far from Brancusi's formal purification, Duchamp's nihilism, Picasso's heroism or Calder's kinetic sculptures, Miró manipulates the automatic and intuitive process of association of the Surrealists, creating relationships between reality and fantasy, between the explicit and the dream, between the eternal and the transient. His first act was to collect all the necessary elements and begin assembling them in his studio. Long walks along the beach and country helped him find these objects —in addition to arousing the envy of his collaborators—filled his favorite studio space. They are made up of items that seem useless to most mortals—rusty jars, bent nails, tattered baskets, ox jaws, eggs, turtle shells, cookware, faucets, hammers, paint pipes, pebbles, police hats, bagels, almonds, tomatoes, traditional biscuits, perfume jars, plastic balls, toilet paper racks, and pumpkins. The last of these objects was transformed into a head by the artist and later used to create the sculpture Mohr.
Miró, The Girl on The Run, 1967, Painting on Bronze, 166×31×58.5cm, Museo Miró, Barcelona
When he brought them all to the studio, he placed them on the floor in circles so that they might hint at the possibility of different forms while creeping into the artist's subconscious. Once in his imaginary world, "alchemy" comes into play, creating the required impact and flash points, illuminating his path, which is then achieved through the movement of his hands. He was not at all interested in speeding up the creative process; instead, he let meditation guide his actions, knowing intuitively that this internal dialogue would gradually coalesce with his ideas. As a result, as Breton puts it, "it will bring us closer to certain objects that can only be approached through dreams," which may reside in any detail, no matter how insignificant it may seem. The gradual transposition of elements eventually constitutes a grotesque figure, an oval humanoid, a mysterious totem pole or a jagged rough face. A woman with dysfunctional sexual organs, a character with a male sexual organ, or an ugly skull like Mohr's are also the result of this process. "Wherever you are, you can find the sun, a grass, a dragonfly spiral." Miró explained to art critic George Dieti in 1936: "Courage consists of staying at home, being close to nature, and not caring about our disasters." Every grain of dust contains the soul of something wonderful. But in order to understand it, we must restore the religious and magical consciousness that belonged to the primitive peoples. Nothing is more striking than to observe the red sun that Miró once put his hand on in his 1953 painting Peinture. American cinematographer and filmmaker Thomas Bouchard freezes the lens in moments of metaphorical energy transmission, expressing in a subtle way the underlying mystery of Mediterranean nature. In this painting, the sun, moon and stars appear, coupled with the spiral shape or the glowing tail left by the comet, which all express the balance of nature in the cycle of light and darkness. The cycle of life that Miró examines and appreciates (as the Paleolithic people of the fifteen thousand years BC did) embodies the function of art as something of inner life through the transmutation of artistic sublimation. By invading the bottom layer of all artistic phenomena, Miró reaches the sublime realm and thus communicates with the universe. If for Nietzsche God is dead, for Miró the sublime is closer to the liberated realm of free floating spirits, surrounded by the moon, sun, and stars, under the protection of the universe, from one galaxy to another.
Miró, The Catalan Peasant in the Moonlight, 1968, Propylene on Canvas, 162× 130 cm, Miró Museum, Barcelona
Miro is passionate about working outdoors, surrounded by nature. His will drove him into the magnetic field of the outdoors, where he found the authenticity of a Catalan farmer and exposed himself to the song and light of the Mediterranean. In 1957, he was preparing two large ceramic murals for UNESCO headquarters in Paris – one paying homage to the sun and the other to the moon. Miró had seen him work with the Catalan potter Artigas to make one of these models in the small village of Gallifa, 20 miles north of Barcelona. What bothers Miró is not the abstract depiction of the tiny forms of nature, but the effective evoking of a series of subliminal and surreal creatures that have a strong parallel to shapes and that are not necessarily reflected in the inner workings of the mind in some vague way. "The wonders of the sky conquer me." Miró explained to the French art critic Yvonne Tayendier, "When I see a crescent moon or sun in the vast sky, I am completely surrendered. In my paintings, tiny figures often appear in huge empty spaces. Empty spaces, empty horizons, empty plains—everything that has been stripped away always leaves me with the same strong impression. "Miró seems to be balancing external sensations with inner tendencies to reach the purest level of human experience. The metaphysical insight into the existence and essence of the human soul, in the face of the sense of infinity produced by the primordial forces of nature, evokes more and more admiration and awe than that of human beings, which exist as a small human kingdom.
In 1954 Miró, he began a new period of cooperation with Joseph Lawrence Artigas in Gallifa. Over the next two years, he produced more than 200 ceramic works. Photograph: Francisco Carla-Rocca
To avoid this frustrating experience, Miró eschewed empathy in favor of organic expressions that came directly from nature. He felt that he was part of nature, and nature flowed in his veins. In an article titled "My Latest Work is a Wall," Miró said that together with Artigas, "[they] decided to go to Santillana del Mar by the sea, to see Altamira's famous cave paintings, and to reflect on the paradigm of the world's oldest fresco art." In the ancient Romanesque cathedral of Santiana (the Colegiata), we marvel at the extraordinary beauty of the texture of the ancient walls eroded by dampness.
Artigas will remember this in the future when choosing materials for his venue. After this trip to the source, we also want to soak up the Catalan Romanesque style and the spirit of Gaudí. The Museum of Barcelona has admirable Romanesque frescoes, which were my initiators as painters. I hope they inspire me again, and I feel that the charm of the huge walls is especially due to them. Finally, we went to visit Gaudí's Park Güell. There, my imagination was struck by a huge disc that was hollowed out on the wall, uncovering the exposed rock below, much like what I intended to carve on the large wall. I see this encounter as a confirmation, a signal of encouragement."
In 1944, Miró published a set of 50 prints known as the Barcelona Series. He returned to painting on canvas, and he had hardly touched the canvas since 1939. Photograph by Joaquin Gomis
Around this time, Miró's French art dealer, Aimé Megète, began considering establishing the Megart Foundation in a privileged location on the Mediterranean coast of southern France, Saint-Paul-de-Vence. A veritable outdoor museum that breathes alongside the vast sea and surrounding pine forests. Giacometti's courtyard, Chagall's mosaic murals, Calder's kinetic sculptures and Braque's glass windows, accompanied by a labyrinth of Miró filled with ceramics and sculptures. The "Mammoth" Egg (for Miró), placed in the middle of the pond, is an example of Miró's poetic creation. While maintaining a strong dialogue with the age of the dinosaurs, coupled with musical elements of flowing water, the work creates a strong visual entertainment that takes the viewer to a world underpinned by poetic associations and plastic metaphors. Miró's radical reappraisal of outdoor sculpture and his ability to grasp the discovery of paleontological forms led him to redirect his spirit to ancient creatures that lived in the Mediterranean some 230 million years ago. A philosophical judgment bursts out of Miró's creation, aiming to rearrange the span of our "stinging revelation", save a secret language, and regain the resonance of barbarism and tribal sculpture. In this work, the ceramics of Miró and Artigas subordinate their materiality to the poetic tension of visual language, adorned with the sound of raw fire, the heat of outdoor flames and the silent representation of ashes, enveloping the environment with surreal fantasies. A few years later, in the Bay of Antibes, not far from here, a ceramic sculpture called La Déese de la mer was placed underwater. In this act, which is considered a tribute to the sea, the artwork is hidden under a veil of mystery, while also euphorically imagining the work at the bottom of the sea, in a place known as the "Cathedral de la Fourmigue".
Miró's painting Femme et oiseau IV (1969) depicts a woman with a strong sense of presence, clearly defined by a very carnal black, whose poetic presence is evoked by the artist's three hands. The bird in the picture is just a silhouette in the background, but with a dark presence, as does another strange figure who is raising his arm. Some of the plain embellishments provide an electric flint hue for the entire composition, accompanied by drop paintings by some members of American Abstract Expressionism, such as Jackson Pollock. Raymond Queneau's essay "Joan Miró ou le poète préhistorique" highlights the potential electrical current that runs through Miró's soul, bringing us closer to the hidden energies associated with the soil and with the goddess of the earth. The art of Miró is the art of ancestors and is closely related to the prehistoric humans who inhabited the Iberian Peninsula. Tribes of hunters and gatherers living in caves draw their hands on the walls, just as Miro did in this painting. Perhaps Miró and the prehistoric "shamans" are looking for self-awareness, or touching the surface of a rock to recognize and enter its spiritual level. It seems that Miró surrenders to metaphysical vibrations through an eruptive language, concretizing the necessary elements to transcend all presupposed concepts and thus attain a higher realm of existence— the surreal.
Left: Miró, Woman and Bird IV, 1969; Center: Handprints on cave paintings; Right: Miro reliefs, 1971
Not only is Miró good at painting, but there are some bas-relief works that are also nourished by Miro's hand. A bronze sculpture created in 1971 is of a imprisoned man with his hand pushed outward, seemingly struggling to break free, releasing the need for rebirth through this metal cage. Here, neither the raised reliefs nor the intaglios of the hands can be understood as a literal symbol, since both create reliefs in bronze. Miró's treatment of the boundary with the contingency is not to sand, but to allow the bronze to capture this unexpected and liquid metal mania, filling the tiniest parts of the mold. Immediately above the hand is a symbol, a nimble life portrayed by the freshness and spontaneity provided by the artist's lively spirit. It is the result of a primitive impulse, an act of fanaticism that seeks to transcend rules, discard established norms, and unleash infinite combinations. Through the traditional "lost wax casting method", combined with the gravure process, Miró meticulously cast the "painting".
Miró, The Praise of the Hand, etching, 1975
The spirit of freedom and magic achieved through the imprint of the hands can also be found in Miró's etchings, such as L'Éloge de la main (1975). The echo of life behind the paper, the presence that the artist can feel at any time, through the modulation of visual dance, metaphorically constitute the picture of the work, so that the life force on the earth becomes particularly active. Miro first dipped his hands with wet paint, and as soon as he left a mark on the copper plate, he immediately added a yellow eye, the shaman's eye, intended to help us transcend the unconscious and move towards the poetic realm that can only be achieved through rational sleep. "Am I afraid of this eye?" No, not at all. In 1974, Miró explained to Yvonne Tayandiye, "I don't doubt it. There is no fear. I would call it a mythological element. To me, the eyes belong to mythology. What do I mean by myth? By myth I mean something that has been endowed with divine qualities, such as ancient civilizations. Even a tree is a myth. Trees do not come from the plant kingdom. It is something that has human nature. A beautiful tree will breathe and listen to your voice; when its buds become flowers, the tree will fall in love with its buds, and when the flowers become fruitful, it will fall in love with its flowers; it resists the wind, it loves you. For me, this existence of humanity in things is a myth. So I don't think a pebble or a stone is something dead. Basically, that's what I painted about this myth. "Through this interpretation by the artist himself, we have a better understanding of the pure light ignited by the intense hue, just like the life force projected by the sunlight shining outward on this exceptionally bright spiritual form. The praise for this hand is a tribute to this element full of magical religious significance, its expression dates back to the late Paleolithic period, and it, together with the stars, highlights the resonance with the vast Mediterranean starlight.
Miró, 2+5=7, 1965, oil on canvas, 89×116cm, Donated by Juan Platz, Museo Miró, Barcelona
Also in the Mediterranean, and more precisely on Mallorca, Miró created the painting Oiseaux des grottes II in his Son Boter studio. In 1971, at the age of 77, Miró poured black paint on a canvas that was flat on the floor of his studio, and after a while he picked up the canvas and turned it to let the black paint flow, drawing a grid of horizontal and vertical lines. At the edge of the canvas, all the lines escape the viewer's vision and disappear into the space. Miró leaned the painting against some other back-leaning canvas, studying the nuances and the simple bits and pieces that flowed on the surface of the canvas. However, in order to balance the composition, two blackbirds appear in the picture, which are thick and flattened, rising from the gradually tightly intertwined lines and gradually becoming thicker. The eyes of one of the birds give the illusion that they are out of proportion to the rest of the head. They were huge in shape, carrying an electric shock of disbelief and fear, like the eyes of a man who lived in a small cave hewn out of a small cave carved out by the wind, rain and hot sun on the hillside near the village of Monterochi. "Monterocci" means "red mountain" in Catalan, and Miró, together with friends, examined the surface of a red sand mountain that gave his native Catalonia the special name given to it. In fact, the delightful holes in the walls that Miró touched were the natural nests of the birds. Perhaps the title of the painting comes from Miro's visit to the mountain, where Miro absorbs the magic of all the biological elements from Mother Nature. Another mention worth mentioning is the graffiti on the walls of Miró's studio. While admiring all the details of Bird of Cave II, one will be struck by the graffiti depicted by the artist in charcoal, which must have been the ecstasy of the artist brought by the inspiration felt at some precious moment.
He froze the magical illusion in his subconscious, and then quickly painted it on the wall. As if in a ceremony held in a sacred place, Miró performed an artistic exorcism that banished all the forms that inhabited his spirit. These forms are the result of the internal dance of visual metaphors, the spiritual construction of neglected objects, in his mind, so clicked in a magical moment, and subsequently became a sculpture. As my younger brother David pointed out, "Everything in the universe is important to Miró, from a box to the sun, from a blade of grass to his beloved carob tree, from an insect to an eagle." Any small thing, no matter how small it looks, can be transformed into Something from Miro. And everyone knows about his worship of Saint Teresa of Avila and Saint John of the Cross. Miró would be in a state of pure musicality for a long time, which would trigger ecstasy. It is not surprising that he draws shapes in the air with his own ethereal hands, as if he were a conductor, conducting a fictional orchestra of symbols and colors conceived by his imagination, playing free sheet music. ”
In addition to Szombat, Miró has another studio in Palma de Mallorca, designed for him by his friend and architect Josép Louis Seth, built in 1956. One day, I don't quite remember the exact date, but I'm sure it was in 1978 and we went to his studio, my grandmother Pilar, my brother Theo and me. That was the only time I went to See My Grandfather at Seth Studio.
Miró's studio in Mallorca, designed by Josep Louis Seth. © Rubén Perdomo
As we slowly descended the wooden steps, I could still hear the creaking of the steps and the sweet voice of Pilar calling out to her husband. We came to the first floor, and as soon as we got there, I remembered my state of awe in front of all the intense colors of his work. I was no more than a curious boy who could not appreciate the importance of this moment, but I was still amazed by the freshness, vitality, purity and energy that emanated from the atmosphere. I still remember the smell of acrylic and oil paint, turpentine, gasoline and other materials scattered around the studio. It was a very special moment. This haven of his, full of all sorts of different objects he had collected while walking around the neighborhood, exuded great spiritual tension. I remember that in the skeletons of frogs, snakes, and birds, among sea shells, stones, insects, and other items, there was a plastic doll that dogs liked to gnaw on. It was a toy from my childhood, so I was quick to ask why one of my favorite toys was hidden there. I looked at My grandmother, hoping for her explanation, but what I got was a gentle smile that soothed my curiosity. To me, it's like delving into an imaginary world, a man's universe, where only he can freely use his imagination with a gesture, an impulse, or even a direct attack on any canvas, cardboard, or paper scattered on the ground, on a table, or against a wall. The largest works, far from the entrance to the studio, attract all my attention due to the strength, strength and purity of the lines, exuding a fresh and fanatical brilliance. It's like a stage play, with small paintings spread over the sides of a huge work. There was a group of 6-8 small-sized paintings distributed on the floor, and he created them at the same time. The shapes that provide balance for these compositions are black. One can feel that these pigments are drawn with consistent, juicy brushstrokes. Some of the colors seem to have been applied with a brush, while others he applied directly with his fingerprints. He had to move carefully so as not to trip over the corners of the painting or some table full of bottles, brushes, pencils, and paint jars. What impressed me the most were the many white canvases prepared for future creations. These small details illustrate that my grandfather, despite being 85 years old, doesn't give in to age and time. It was this physical need that drove him to move forward indomitably, to fight any discomfort, to support him to persevere day after day.
Miró, Women, Birds, Stars, 1978, Acrylic and Oil On Canvas, 116×89cm, Miró Museum, Barcelona
In 1980, when Asked by Michael Gibson about the pace of his work, Miró replied, "I work in the morning and I work in the afternoon." When I'm not working, I keep thinking about what I'm working on. Even when I'm sleeping, I continue to think subconsciously. "A particular photograph can reflect his persistence in creating at such an advanced age. In the photo, my grandfather applies paint with his index finger while his other hand squeezes the oil paint tube. Later, he said: "I always want to go forward, and at the same time worry about the next step, whether I will fall into the cliff." It was as if walking in the fog, which was an adventure for me.
In 1977, Miró and Josep Roy were working as a large tapestry for the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C.
Miró, Fabric 6, 1972, Josep Royot woven wall hanging acrylic, thread and wool, 140x187cm, Miró Museum, Barcelona
I am well aware of this and often have the feeling of walking in the thin air... This has happened several times, as if walking in the mountains, and suddenly it fogs up, and I don't know where I am. Needless to say, Miró was a fighter who would never surrender, following the path he himself had chosen. Nothing could stop him, no one could persuade him to give up. The energy of this particular man comes from the atmosphere of the Mediterranean, which is the source that inspires his work and nourishes his soul. He has benefited from the natural environment around him, to which he has paid tribute throughout his artistic career, which gives us an insight into how much the power of the earth in his native Catalonia has played a huge role in his creations.
In 1975, Miró was in front of the newly opened Miró Museum.
Note: This article was originally published in Juan Miró: Women, Birds and Stars published by Shanghai Calligraphy and Painting Publishing House, which is a bilingual album in Chinese and English for the special exhibition of Pudong Art Museum, including curatorial humanities, exhibits, photographs of Joaquim Gomis and precious archival pictures provided by the Miró Museum. The special exhibition will last until November 7, 2021.
Juan Miró: Women, Birds, Stars
Editor-in-Charge: Huang Song
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