Category: Stories

During my childhood, I tried to imitate the work of Juan Luna’s ‘Spolarium’  by sketching from an old Philippine History book. I was amazed by the work of Juan Luna, Felix Hidalgo, and Amorsolo. The book never mentioned them as artists, but as painters and heroes.

During those times, I did not know about Art or Kitsch because they were never common topics in my hometown. We called a maker of paintings a “pintor” (painter) but never an “artist.” 

When I entered art school they told me that my works are art, and painting is art. At that time, I learned about the Mona Lisa, Rembrandt, Van Gogh, etc. What struck me most was the work of Caspar David Friedrich, which I admire.

I truly wanted to paint in a classical manner but the Art folks around me said that I should “evolve” and create something new if I want to be in with the galleries and for my works to be sold. Out of poverty, I tried my best to follow it, but I end up creating confusing and mediocre works.

I am glad that through the internet I found and learned about Kitsch and Odd Nerdrum. It brings hope to my soul.

When I was 12 years old I copied Raphael’s portrait of Pope Gregory in colored pencils for a school project. It was for history class, not art, and it wasn’t a good copy. I remember thinking, “it’s a shame people can’t learn to paint like that anymore.” A thought in my own head! Skilled painting is dead, all the workshops closed, and the birds are singing about it. After that, I don’t think I gave the old masters a second thought for another 12 years. 

When I started teaching myself to paint in oil—since I never got over my skepticism about becoming a great painter through the university system—I started with Van Gogh, my childhood favorite. I studied and imitated his techniques, also the later Munch, and the Impressionists. Everything I learned about painters and the history of painting seemed to reinforce a crude pattern: as you go backwards in time, the works become more ambitious, more sincere, more impossible to emulate, and more miraculous.

As my education turned to Rembrandt, Velazquez, El Greco, and Titian, I started sharing their work with my friends. Many seemed to see these old paintings as artifacts, the way someone might look at a Greek bronze helmet in a museum: with admiration but not emotion. I saw these paintings as totally alive, the highest possible achievement, and as emotionally charged today as at the time of their conception. What crime has been committed that we should be deprived of masters in our time?

As my own paintings slowly improved I emerged from the studio and looked at what was happening in the art world. I saw the continuing red thread of modern art, ideas without craft, everywhere. I also discovered the contemporary atelier scene: craft without ideas. Lastly I found those still dedicated to the masterwork tradition: the marriage of craft and ideas, who were freely calling their work ‘kitsch.’ I found my milieu.

I am aware that I have not personally made a masterpiece, but I believe strongly in the process of the masterwork tradition; to observe and copy, to improve every day, to not be distracted by the whims of our incidental slice of time, and to work towards one day achieving an eternal masterpiece. How could I call myself an artist?

I was an artist — for one day — and I enjoyed the experience.

It was in Berlin in the early ‘90s, at this devastated house in the former east, near the wall.

A collective exhibition, organised by a progressive gallerist, and morbid in every way. It consisted of skulls of deceased German soldiers as a carbon atom installation, and I took part with an installation too!

I felt the system: the respect of the fellow artists after the opening, and all of the compliments. I was a part of it for one day.

Then there were the painters in the cafè keeping a distance from our table, and looking angry when I talked about painting in a loving way, because they thought I was mocking them.

It was one happy holiday.

Art or “kunst“ in German, is a word I never dared to take in my mouth because it has a bad taste.

All the time I heard people whispering to me or behind my back that I am no artist; as if I ever wanted to be one.

There were years where I tried to find a word describing what I loved.
Was it not simply painting in a gripping way?

‘Kitsch.’

What a relief to have a term I can relate to.

Why try to be a part of a system, when you can simply have friends and respected colleagues?

I started painting at 10 years old, when my father gave me my first oil paint and brushes. That same day I painted a medieval street at night; narrow, with a small dimly lit lantern that showed a direction to follow. In the afternoon I tried to create my first painting with chiaroscuro using a palette with few colors and a fairly correct perspective. That was my first intuitive impulse to simply do the right thing. To do something well, something Kitsch. From that moment on I have only worked in the same way and will continue to do so for the rest of my life. 

Over the years I learned about the barbarism of modern art. I studied at two universities and attended many workshops with their “artists”.

One day, the curator of an exhibition, in which I was going to participate, told me to remove a couple of my paintings because they were “inappropriate.” He said that my pictures were “talking” and people do not want to buy pictures that talk while hanging on the wall. That day I left with all of my paintings, determined to never stop painting narratives. Clearly I was not an artist nor did I want to be an artist under such circumstances. 

The medieval street that I painted always accompanied me as a reminder that I should not betray myself. This was confirmed when I applied for Odd Nerdrum’s School in 2017 and got accepted.

We were traveling from Sweden to Norway with his wife Turid, who also paints, and Master Nerdrum told me: “Patricia, they lie, quality should never go out of style.” With that phrase, he said it all.

Happiness came to me the day I got the opportunity to become a student at the Nerdrum School. It was an immediate confirmation of the values I was seeking. There were no strange questions like “why do you want to paint like the old masters?”. I came home.

I felt the resistance against the way I wanted to paint. More than one teacher encouraged me to quit this “constrained style”, and some students told me that they had “moved on” after a figurative start. I was stubborn; I was hungry to learn about how the old masters painted. 

I remember that a student in my class (a terrible draftsman), got accepted into the National Art Academy in Oslo. He brought his household goods to the audition, and got in. I applied two times with my paintings and was refused admission. That was when I understood that the doors to the academy were and always will be closed to me. At the same time, it was hard for me to call myself an artist. It felt wrong. I could not compete with those who got accepted into the academy because my ideas were wrong according to them… I felt lonely. 

At the Nerdrum School I found a community that shared my values and goals. There I was introduced to Kitsch. It was early 2000. I still struggle to find galleries who will exhibit my work, and I have never received a grant from the state to help me on my way. 

I am affiliated with the kitsch group. I belong there. I am a kitsch-painter.

The year was 1997. I had apprenticed with Odd Nerdrum for more than six months and I was struggling with a self-portrait. I tried several compositional solutions to no avail.

Finally, my eyes landed on Leonardo’s St. John the Baptist pointing towards the heavens; perhaps that hand movement was something for me? It would certainly supply the painting with more of a narrative. Besides, Leonardo understood how to master a composition. I’d be damned if it didn’t work for me as well… 

But lo! No sooner had the idea entered my soul, did a feather-light angel land upon my left shoulder. The size of a butterfly, it whispered in an almost inaudible, lamenting tone of voice: “But, my dearest… that would be u n o r i g i n a l…”. 

I caught my eyes red-handed in the mirror, but was unable to hold the gaze.

The thought of emulation had suddenly become morally suspect. It dawned on me that I could easily end up burning in hell.

With the future state of my soul such in peril, I decided to ask for competent advice. Somewhat bewildered, but with a calm supplied by professionalism, Nerdrum answered that the real “problem” would be to paint the arm well enough. Could I surpass Leonardo? His students may often experience him like that. While dreaming there is an annoying, winged creature on your shoulder; as you enter sunlight you are suddenly caressing an affectionate kitten.

I often think of that moment. 
You know, we all grow up with Art values – they permeate our culture. 

How easily one can succumb to the imperative of originality.
How «logical» to relinquish the possibility of learning from great masters. 
How «natural» to fear — or desire — dominating social codes.

Giving up improvement. A great sacrifice, indeed.

Not everyone meets a master who can guide them according to classical values.
This is where Kitsch comes in.

Kitsch hones skill and dramatized storytelling as its pillars. 
The basic human condition, however « sentimental», is the goal. 
Archetypal images that confirm our situation, so we are not isolated and alone. 

You can like or dislike the word, but it clarifies where you are, and what your values are. Thus, it keeps you strong mentally, something we need today more than ever.

We have all seen painters «change» in the face of criticism. Either because of honest trust in canonized authority, or from outright opportunism.

With the new understanding of Kitsch that can stop, because finally a constructive alternative has been presented. 

Use your energy constructively. With Kitsch, a new renaissance is possible. 

“You could try to get a job making Romance Novel covers,” my Art professor told me during our midterm critique. I sat in the middle of the class in front of my painting, “Traveling Lovers.” In it, two figures looked out to an idyllic sunset and one had a walking stick. Their clothes were similar to those I knew from a fantasy video game because I wanted them to feel timeless. I was shamelessly sincere. I had not read a romance novel, but I thought that could be a good job!

I could sense some students’ growing embarrassment for me. Some giggled at the perceived slight from the teacher. It is a common story for painters to be pressured away from sentimentality in Art School. But I continued making romantic paintings on my own. 

Later, I found the paintings of Odd Nerdrum, Jan-Ove Tuv and Helene Knoop. The Kitsch idea they promoted encouraged free expression. They had no moralistic attitude against sentimentality. In addition, unlike Art School, their advice helped me improve my paintings! 

When I visit a museum, I spend the most time in front of the paintings with the strongest sentiment. The core issue here for painters is that it takes a lot of skill to create a human expression that feels convincing. Even if the smallest facial muscle is off, an emotion feels faked. This is the lower kitsch that makes Art students giggle uncomfortably. Still many of us need years to work through this stage before we can reach anything that grips an audience – anything approaching High-Kitsch. 

After I graduated from my MFA, I figured out what it is that I do. I love to follow the great master painters, so I called myself a “painter”. This is a specific classification where as “Artist” is much broader.

Everyone who makes “art”, could be called an artist, like: cooks, barbers, landscape gardeners, designers etc.. Living in the moment, modern art and artists catch much more attention from the world, mostly due to commercial benefits.

Kitsch painting is classical, and lives forever in the hearts of people! Kitsch paintings can be made by painters who live today but this is distinct from contemporary or modern painters.

Kitsch painting has a narrative function and is fundamental to the aesthetic standard of all poetic forms.

Kitsch is founded by the aesthetic need of people that will never change. It is in the pursuit of classical beauty and the eternal and has been since the ancient times.

I have a disease; a burning need to create and the desire to improve to become the best I can be. I want to craft something beautiful, something timeless. At university they tried to cure me. They persuaded me to lay down my brushes and make the cross over; to join the ranks of artists.

They wanted to unchain me, free me of the past: I could not compete with those painters anyway. Why live in the brown period when I could step into the light of the present day, and through performance and conceptual installations discover my own voice? Don’t bother with paint on canvas – you know, painting died in the ’80s.

As time passed, the group critiques got more aggressive. What I was doing was not what I was supposed to do, but no matter how often they told me to, I could not stop. I had to paint, and I wanted to be good at it. 

One afternoon we had a big group critique, and I was asked to present my painting last. They were brutal, and at the very end of it a teacher got up. The intention was not to give me constructive criticism, but to put out my flame. He kept the carnage going until the class had to be dismissed, not allowing me to defend my work.

As the other students were leaving, all fired up and excited by the cruel words just spoken, the other teacher who was present made his way over to me. He explained to me that his colleague probably didn’t mean what he had just said. To which I answered “of course he did.”

Due to the ruthlessness shown in the critique, the teacher was instructed to give me an apology. I could not believe it! However, shortly after, I found what I thought at first glance to be a misplaced pair of scissors on my studio table. There was something uncanny about its placement. It seemed slightly arranged, and it had long canvas-like strings of thread hanging from it.

Someone had stabbed my painting and left the weapon. It felt like an act of hatred. Not so much towards me, but of what I was trying to accomplish. I knew I would never be one of them.

I am not an artist. 

My father always told me about his admiration for the work of Michelangelo, especially the paintings in the Sistine Chapel.

From a very young age I felt a deep admiration for the works of the old masters. I saw that such creations were sublime and I did not understand how they were able to perform an imitation of reality almost more beautiful than reality itself.

With this concern already sewn in me, I began to study the great masters of painting. I was amazed with many periods and how they were improving in composition and techniques over time. I was especially surprised with what was achieved during the renaissance.

As I inquired further, I noticed that pictorial movements began to downplay technique and talent. Instead they gave importance to concepts I didn’t understand. These types of modern movements disappointed me and did not take my attention.

Through my continued search for knowledge about classical painting I met Odd Nerdrum. It was encouraging to know that there is a living master of classical painting and that he also receives students. Before I could go to his school, Odd sent me to study with Sebastián Salvo.

During my first encounter with Sebastian, at his workshop full of dark classical paintings, I knew immediately that I was in the right place. That day Sebastian asked me a question: “Miguel, what does art mean?” It was a question that I was not able to answer. After that, we began to talk about philosophy and we reached the term “Kitsch”. It all started to make more sense; a concept with clear foundations and with the highest goal of making a masterpiece.