God naked. And, seeing all that for the first time,
I move on to the next point, which, of course,
has a slightly different color, shades of brown –
the autumn of 1970, or Vienna during the Nazi period.
Around it I feel the skin burning. I mean, something happens,
something I don’t actually see, the light not good,
although I didn’t necessarily intend it that way.
Someone comes along
with a machine and thinks he’s a god,
and I don’t need that.
But he’s certainly an emperor, a king.
After the war, we see the view
from his left eye as he lies on a chaise longue,
the view out over his moustache.
How terrible. No colors. Green light without colors.
Because a feeling has no form.
It has a blurred quality, a kind of flailing about.
I’ll paint it red.
And so surrealism came to our small town.
Hundreds of people lined up outside to enter,
although there was no wait.
You push a button
with the palm of your hand
and still fail to disappear.
I have other problems –
X-rays, a pig’s red nose,
loads of ghosts and aura.
But what appeals to me
is precisely this difficulty.
That’s to say, I’m totally normal,
although even today,
the grinning man in the moon
whose skull was open at the back
was beginning to catch up.
Howie Good, 2014
Maria Lassnig in conversation with Frieze co-editor Joerg Heiser,
Frieze: Issue 103