PETER STERNANG

Time Will Tell

Sternang about his work:

For me, still life painting has always been close at hand, almost like a daily exercise, like model painting or sketching. The props are always within reach. It is a genre that is perhaps usually associated with a number of objects arranged on a table; bottles, porcelain, cutlery, perhaps something edible or drinkable. Often these are things that bring to mind travels in foreign countries, set tables that sparkle and shine in generous and warming sunlight. But the long and dark Nordic nights, combined with the whims of life, can also conjure up images that tell of insomnia and brooding.

A move to a new home and a new studio makes you see everything anew, with new eyes. Life is dismantled into its smallest components, and unpacked again. Everything is weighed and valued, some goes to Myrorna, some to recycling, some to the children, some to the landfill. The Greek blankets, acquired in a cold winter in Greece more than forty years ago, provide warmth and security, I have them with me along the way. (I have never been so cold as in Greece, so close to the sun.)

It is almost impossible not to be reminded of other artists' work when you stand and paint. I came to think of Monet who planted and arranged his flower beds, the motifs then literally grew around him. He built his Japanese bridge by the pond with water lilies. Bonnard who painted every corner of his home, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, and himself in the mirror on the wall there. Vincent who portrayed his friends by painting their chairs; Gauguin's aristocratic and pretentious, his own a simple kitchen chair with a bast seat, the kind you are used to in Greece.

I see my wardrobes with the shirts arranged in rows, by color, or by seasons and holidays. The jackets strictly lined up, dark, serious, restrained. The ties for every occasion in life; Christmas, New Year, Easter, Midsummer, birthdays, funerals. Joy and sorrow. I was thinking about how we dress, and came to think of a friend and colleague's funeral a couple of years ago. I considered what I would wear; not a tie, he hadn't liked that, but a white shirt, loosely unbuttoned at the neck, and a simple black suit and black shoes, it felt right. The church was full of colleagues and professionals, and everyone was dressed in stripes, polka dots, plaid and florals, in all the colors of the rainbow. There were Hawaiian shirts, shorts and sandals everywhere. I was almost the only one wearing a black suit.

A week later there was a vernissage at the art gallery, and everyone who had been to the church was there. But now everyone was dressed completely in black, from head to toe, which of course reinforced the feeling of an otherwise gloomy and pretentious event. It was all the more pleasant to run into a good friend in the crowd of a lively pub who had unintentionally dressed as a painting by Olle Baertling. Even the dogs that escaped from the souvenir shop at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam had the sense to dress up to celebrate life…

Peter Sternang - Limited edition prints