The music sets the tone for the evening. I and my better half are enjoying a casual dinner at a neighborhood jazz bar that has been highly recommended by the proprietor of a fine Montreal gallery with whom we are happy to do business with (breathe! long sentence, I know). I never mention names in this space, so trust me, the gallery and the club are worth the trip.
Although I could not tell a Coltrane from a Baker, I still love what I hear. So much so that I am going to keep this vibe until I get back into my studio.
In the sixties, almost all documentaries based on abstract art were set to jazz music. Cool. Very cool. I'm there now, in my mind's eye- feeling the cold concrete of brutalism in the surrounding buildings, interrupted only by the occasional frenetic canvas, strewn across the wall like a random afterthought. It comforts me. Modernism is cold-very cold. Or is it? When viewed through these older lenses, a strange warmth emerges. I only recall the heat. The heat of youth. And you know Picasso emphatically stated that: "Youth has no age".
Jazz Club, 48x24 mixed media on canvas, Sold ( Gallery 133)
It's Spring. Chill.