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Category Archives: Greece

150px-Flag_of_the_Free_State_of_Ikaria.svg37° 35′ 0″ N, 26° 10′ 0″ E

spending last two weeks vacation in Faros on Icaria – one of the Greek islands in Northern Aegean Sea – I was asked by Niki Kastanis who runs the tavern bar fos fanari on the longest beach of the island to finish with mason Costa two of prepared brick-layed plant pots next the side step of the bar´s terrace. – I already had collected with my son a lot of pattered stones out of the sea-shore, first interested in the patterns itself, then more inspired stone by stone to imagine shields and limbs of turtles. Every day swimming the beach along I imagined to meet one real living careta careta – a  loggerhead seaturtle –  once, several years ago, I was lucky to meet one careta near the Greek island Zakynthos  and did synchron movements in the sea with the turtle – an experience outa space! – I did not meet one in the water this time. But SHE came out of the water & tried three times to dig a pit for her eggs next the house I slept – unfortunately the stony ground under the sand or my & others precence I called – stopped her attempts. she crawled back over the gravel  into the sea. The astonished natives told me they had never sawn a turtle on their beach.  –  “You brought the spirit of the turtle to the beach”, Niki said exited & pleased.












Black & White on Zante painting performance Axl Litschke & Andreas Roseneder

a slide-show by artstage of photos shot by Adolf Tuma on an improvisated painting- & dance-performance in Vassilikos August 2005 at the location of Summeracademy Greece (Sommerakademie Griechenland) on Zakynthos / Zante: the painters Axl Litschke (white) & Andreas Roseneder (black) meeting after 30 years again – in movement. André Várkony (not visible here) beat the percussion to this performance.

I met Axl Litschke first time at his assistant apprenticeship of my master Anton Lehmden, an outstanding representative of the so called Viennese School of Phantastic Realism at the Academy of Arts in Vienna. his paintings were images of silent landscapes without human traces done in precisely defined oil-technique. I remember even the priming coat of his wooden panels he prepared in several white clay-layers. the only murmur I have heard at his studio was the stream of lava winding through a landscape he painted. – in those times a typical representative of that Viennese School for me. – I myself lived in Germany, Augsburg, Berlin & Munich, was loud & expressive too, liked the Austrian & German expressionists, all actionists & performers, needed the traces of movement of human beings in art,  even fired my paintings with terpentine & worked into the licking flames & finally had first success with painting as representative of that times, the art trend “Junge Wilde” (“new fauves”)

when I came back from Munich or Berlin to Vienna, Axl still painted quiet in his studio over the lava stream.

but Axl was also administrator of the coffee-machine in our studio at the academy & a philosopher in conversation, for me always a master of intellectual speech at coffee-break at work. these coffee-breaks with the art director are still one of the few remembrances of my study at the academy.

on Zante, the Greek island Zakynthos we met 2005 again as fellow teachers with different careers behind us, Axl taught his students drawing models still in his correct & motionless manner, I was head of the colourful acrylic painting course. Axl always dressed in tight black – I prefer light wide clothes in sommer. at the end of a discussion about art & the importance of movement on it I just said to Axl: “we change our outfit: you are white & I am black, you are the canvas & I am the painter, I AM YOU, – & you are my canvas, you have to move & I will paint on you in your movements & you go with mine. we will move together in & through painting.”

he agreed joyfully.

I got the dresses at the Dutchwoman´s Store next Coffee House at Vassilikos.

so it was.

Andreas Roseneder   the 3 graces´ balloons   watercolour dichromatic on E S



Andreas Roseneder                                          watercolours on Ecus Sistina

El Greco´s balloon? – I think it is time to leave the air & come back to Earth. – this balloon here could be a bowl, for me it is a mirror-bowl, imaging a woman reflecting on her body in a mirror. this combination of cerulian light blue & venetian red brown is a heir of El Greco he offered me at Toledo in Spain: one of his numerous contemporarty copyists thougt to be the official legatee of the masters enigma but misunderstood the interpretation. his wrong copying was an insult to my eyes but a help in avoiding to do probably the same mistake. the master does not teach, just offers his privy purse – or keeps it closed. teaching includes mistakes.

hippolyte.jpg hippolyte-2.jpg hippolyte-3.jpg

imagination blue-orange, acryl on canvas, 2005

Hippolyte, Penthesilea or even Hera? – what aim has an ensuing interpretation of a wordless pure imagination without defined intention before? – you are welcome to have a comparing look at Andromeda, the inspiring impetus of these questions.

kakòn méga erotes<


cor sit saltem sobrium<

 Es ist nur der Mond.
 Aber dessen Licht reicht aus, die Szene zu erhellen.
 Das Mondlicht lässt alles ganz leicht durchsichtig erscheinen, verleiht der ganzen Szene einen Schleier der Einzigartigkeit, ja der Einmaligkeit oder gar Unwiederbringlichkeit in der Erscheinung.
 Ein weißes Mondlicht, das weiße Schenkel hat & diese Schenkel weiß hinaussplittert ins Nachtdunkel: Lichtkreisel & Lichtkringel spielen spiegelnd über die bewegte Wasseroberfläche des nahen Baches auf den Blättern eines Olivenbaumzweiges, springen einfach über im Licht ins Geäst & spielen Kreisreia; ein tanzendes Kringelolivengewächs, das ihn da selber einkreist & einwickelt in seine silbernen Fäden; weiße Schenkel werfen stahlgraue Schatten auf silberne Kringel; dazwischen eingefaltet der Rock in sachte Wellen, deren Rundung ab & zu aufplatzt durch springende Luftbläschen: das Wasser als elementares Spiel: Wasserschenkel schlagen oliv-blaugraue Bläschen; & immer wieder der Mondschein, der dazwischenblinkt.
 Stella liegt regungslos, nur entblößte Schenkel ragen aus ihrem weißopaken Rock, vielleicht lächelt sie, weiß nicht, ihr Gesicht ist Mond, lächelt der?; ein Kreisrund als Gesicht, dann bewegen sich die Lippen in diesem Rund, Stella sagt irgendetwas, weiß nicht was, was nichts zur Sache tut als weiterhin weiß färbt; da der Mond & Stella spricht wie Mond & Stella spricht Mond weiß; Nike wie Mond; die Weißschenkel beginnen leicht zu vibrieren, nein ich vibriere! & splittern zurück in den Mondkreis; das Zelt färbt sich rot & blau; Glasfarbenlicht; als wäre es erfüllter Wunsch; die Röte dominant scheinend, die Bläue hält die Szene fest wie das Zeltgerüst das Leinen; dazwischen mehren sich tummelnd die Schenkel, sich reibend aneinander, einzelne Mondsplitter abschüttelnd.
 Mit Stella ein Versinken im Wasser & die Wellen schlagen über ihm ein.
 Die Vibrationssplitter überfliegen ganze Landstriche, in ein in die Weite gezogenes Land, das noch zu Fuß begangen sein will, denn ein Fahrzeug steht nicht zur Verfügung; Gewitterwolken verdunkeln den Mond, ein Blitz entlädt über den Donner Wasser vom Himmel, tränkt das Leinen der Zelthaut & lässt das nasse Tuch fallen auf ihre dampfenden Häute.
 Stella Europa auf nassem Stier.
 Gefangen in nassem Tuch.