She lived on the second floor of our block, her flat was above ours. I was watching, from the perspective of a child, the embodiment of King Kong going through the phases of evolution and finally becoming an old woman. She was a woman of great soul and body, the latter, with its massiveness, making the impression of a stable person. Although she was characterised by her height and broadness, her heart surpassed them both. It was common knowledge. Neighbours, friends, friends of friends, relatives, children, everyone kept coming back to have a bowl of soup, to sweeten themselves up with some cakes or to taste coffee.

I used to be fascinated by the exquisite cleanliness and order in her small kitchen. There was always enough room in this old-fashioned kitchen, even though the washbasin stood nestled on one side, leaning against the oven, the oven against the fridge, a small table placed to the wall, squeezed in kitchen cabinets surrounded by rickety chairs.

That is why we were much closer to each other than we are today. One of the miracles that I remember happened on a late summer afternoon while I was sharing a meal with her grandchildren. That was when goolash turned into goulash. I felt free to ask for another portion.

And then one day, as if it were yesterday, somehow and suddenly she shrank, like your clothes shrink when washed. She was tiny as she came and rang the bell. Traces of being colossal were gone forever, only her heart kept its existing greatness. I understood. My perspective shifted higher, it grew up.. just like that.

Out of the blue.

Prevela: Mónika Mészáros

Space Interpreter

In the afternoon I was painting on the terrace. Although the artistic adventure did not end, I have managed to displace stains and smears that were crosscut with a variety of lines. It’s all good. Sheltered under a wide roof, I was listening to the silent drizzle of a light rain. In the distance, barely audible, a radio is being heard from the neighbour’s courtyard. Oddly enough, it is not folk music, but classical. Very strange, I thought to myself. He stopped breeding pigs, and the air was filled with freshness of negative ions instead of the stench of the excrement piled up adjacent to the wall separating us. Inevitably, that was a huge loss for the Dadaistic order of thoughts in organizing a painting. I’m trying to degust the taste of the offered peace.

Determined as a soldier, with stained fingers I squeeze the colour tubes. Spelling in my head the English print on labels. Neapolitan yellow and emerald green. They sound like titles.

Without any malice, I demonstrate my mastery of the situation. I’m scoring out this composition of escape from everyday life, yet this beginning is promising, as far as I’m ready to believe in it. I smile, and obliquely stretch my lips. A master of his own, submissive to the painting.

The night is approaching, and there is not enough time. The obligations persistently and inexorably lurk the opportunity, as if they were only waiting for me to get tired and drooped so that they could finally subdue me with their burden.

I know all the tricks.

I’m planning my strategy.

I defy.

When they accumulate, I prioritize and eliminate. There is no planning nor organizing. Later I take a bite of the leftovers, not allowing them to get stale, not letting them stay in one place.

Not allowing them to grow roots, that’s important too. The point is in the freshness of the afternoon and in the smell of turpentine. It is massaging my pituitary gland.

Freedom resides only in choice.

Ђорђе Крстић

Рођен давне 1851 у Старој Кањижи. Било је то исте године када Густав Курбе изложио своју сада већ чувену слику „Туцачи камена“. Оно што их повезује је то што су оба уметника на различитим поднебљу не неки начин утемељивачи реализма као сликарског правца. И ако српском сликарству реализам није никада заживео у правом смислу.
Крстић је ликовну академију је завршио у Минхену где је и живео до 1883. Сасвим разумљиво, дела су му под утицајем  немачког реализма. Научен да се ликовно изражава на нов начин, новим језиком, новом формом, повратком у Србију сликар се нашао пред проблемом прилагођавања условима једне економски, друштвено и културно неразвијеније средине, неспремне да прихвати нове социјалне теме за које се залагао европски реализам.

Нека од његових значајнијих дела могу се погледати у Народном музеју у Београду.

Међу његовим најбољим делима у којима се истиче ликовна поетика и стил су: Анатом, пејзаж Бабакај, Аласка врата.

Дана 30. јануара 1884. постао је члан Српског ученог друштва, а 1892. почасни члан Српске краљевске академије.

Умро је у Београду 30. октобра 1907. године.

Стара Кањижа

И са ових неколико података јасно је да завређује пажњу јер је већ одавно прихваћен значајан ликовни уметник. Из Кањиже, може се рећи. Па макар и случано.

Ликовни уметник

Град у ком сам провео детињство је прикладне величине да се човек не осети спутан тековинама урбане цивилизације. Не оскудева у сеоском менталитету руралне средине али још увек се може сматрати срећом да се није развила у већи град. Дакле, градић. Таман да је мање, у ствари више, па онда све дође на кнап.

Занимљиво је да се у овом малом месту изнедрило више ликовних уметника.
За неке од њих се чуло а за неке не. На друге можда, не бисте ни помислили.

Упознајмо Кањишке ликовне уметнике.