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March 2014

- Ver o tempo a passar -

Criemhilde had sat silently in the window in Pintos pub for years. But after a stroke, the old woman with her Zimmer-frame ventured only a few steps from her house. Now the olive tree had become her regular spot from which to observe the village. When I saw her sitting there day after day, I decided to keep her company and paint a time-consuming picture of this spot. This is how I came to take my place on the short wall behind her every morning and put brick after brick, window after window and house after house down on my paper – for weeks, spread over many holidays. New houses came along, old ones disappeared. Sometimes it was the sun over the mill, sometimes the moon. The old olive tree, which had watched over the village even longer than Criemhilde and me, blossomed, bore fruit and blossomed anew. I would have preferred to carry on and on painting this picture. I lengthened the paper beyond the page and below it. But then one day it was simply finished, and so was the time I had spent in silent observation with Criemhilde. ‘Ver o tempo a passar’ – ‘See how time passes’: This picture is not dedicated to me, nor to Criemhilde, but only to the old olive tree, which remains when all others have left.

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