I am reading this interesting book, I am not trough with it yet but I ve been inspired to share some thoughts about it with all of you readers. Marc Chagall was born in Belarus in 1887 and died in France in 1985 after a period spent in New York due to the Nazi invasion. I don't go more deeply into facts but I wanted to share my thinking while reading his book "My life". This gentle, deep and touching book was a gift to me by my loved husband for my birthday and this means a lot to me. from this present I was able to know a little more about an artist that I didn't discover much before. March Chagall through his pages showed me how figurative art and other forms can be as effective in revealing our Self through it, and be experienced by those who look, listen, and read our art. The writing of Marc is very much poetry even though he writes about his life's experience, I've been exposed to the story of a child, a man and artist, his turmoils, his joys and simple every day life.; Chagall's art now is more clear to me, he explained how deep and essential his family, his village, and his connections were to him, and also the jewish culture he had been raised into. It is admirable the commitment and love that he had for his loved ones. His life to me is depicted into his dreamy paintings, because this was the way he saw his life, this was the way he experienced it. Lots of the characters in his paintings are flying and many loved ones also flew away from physical life to eternity, leaving Chagall with a new depth. I will share with you few lines to explain what i am trying to say. "In those days, I was particularly stupid and, it seems to me, happy. Grandfather, i still remember you. One day, coming upon a sketch of a nude woman, he turned his back on it, as it were none of his business, or as if it were a strange star in the market place of no concern to the inhabitants. And I understood then, that my grandfather, as well as my wrinkled little grandmother and all my family, completely ignored my art (what an art, that doesn't even pretend to a resemblance!), and valued meat very highly. [...] But Im not joking. If my art played no part in my family's life, their lives and their achievements greatly influenced my art.
Chagall in his book explains to us the challenges and the joy of being an artist at his time and universally. I hope i generated enough interest in his book to make you read it because his poetry is very touching and beautiful, enjoy!
Here another little extract of Chagall beautiful poetry
"Green leaves rustling Your stones. Your graves. Hedgerows muddy river, prayers made. All that is before me. No words. It all lies deep within me, writhes and soars like my memory of you. Your pallor, the thinness of your hands, your dried skeletons, bring a lump to my throat. To whom shall i pray? How beseech you, beseech God through you, for a bit of happiness, of joy? I often look at the emptiness of the blue sky, I look at it dry-eyed, with pity and sadness. You know, my parents, I'm already a different man-sad and disillusioned of many things!
But enough! Au revoir!
My desire would be that everyone that could share anything related to art, their art, art making, art viewing with no expectation but with the same freedom that brought ME making all my works.