Magic of Lights, shapes, and colors – Joseph Matar

“On the first morning of creation, God saw that the light was good. God separated the light from the darkness.” (Genesis 1-3)

When all is well, the state of the soul is bright and pleasant. With darkness and obscurity, the horizon darkens, it is sadness. Between pure light and total darkness lie the most subtle nuances, it is life, the activities of everyday life. Colors, shades, tones… chiaroscuro, the diversity of the most dazzling chromatic ranges to the most transparent tones, from warmth to coldness, exchanges, sensations, feelings, moods, expressions… Inner struggles, ideas, the destiny of the being, its visions… I wonder if the eye thinks. I also wonder if the eye belongs to the individual or to the entire cosmos and all creation.

Seeing is a sublime gift from heaven. Seeing throughout one’s life the sunrise, the midday lights, the rainbow after the rain, the twilight… and again the dawn, the blooms, the variations in seasons, all nature and human expressions. As for emotions, feelings, thoughts, judgments, and cultures, all flourish in poetic structures that metamorphose into creative acts. Not to mix color theories, chemistry and physics, elements, pigments, colors, and lights, techniques… With the sublime, creation, and beauty, one reaches poetry, for poetry is art by excellence.

I have great admiration for my tireless father who knows neither rest, nor laziness, nor the difficulties of work. For him, creation is a religious, sacred, holy act and requires demands and self-sacrifice. Artwork is not a hobby or a distraction. Every Artwork requires sleepless nights and work supported by knowledge, love, will, courage, power, and passion. More than twenty years ago, I still remember, my father gave a title to one of his exhibitions: “A Self of Light,” a luminous ego. I observe my father at work: painting, reading, drawing, preparing himself his material, his support… I have never seen him at rest… He is always awake, he revisits what he does several times. Sometimes several versions with the same dynamism and love, without complaining. Everything metamorphoses in his hands whatever the motive was. He never repeats himself, he is in perpetual renewal. A landscape, a composition, and a portrait are his moods, new presences of the “Self.” He can never be gray, halfway, he takes into consideration his commitments and his honor. Customs and traditions, patriotic stories and heroism interest him – it is true, he respects and lives by values, for him, it is a duty. If I stop in front of a recent landscape, I see the main lines, the layout, the plans, the structure of the Artwork… and his flowering almond trees in the foreground, I see how he transitions from one color to another while maintaining overall harmony. The Artwork is an intimate whole whose elements complement each other and make the pictorial message reach the viewer. The Artwork is illuminated by the light of the artist’s soul. External light only illuminates the place where the artist is. What gives magic to the Artwork is the light of the Spirit, an inner light, intimately imbued with the most human: tenderness, vigor, charm, solidity, uncompromising, kindness, and tolerance. A light that, like good wine, ferments in our hearts and bears the imprint of the artist. Painting for my father is like a prayer. The light of the Sun star eclipses before the magician of light, the painter himself… A luminous flux emanating from the heart of the artist spreads within the Artwork.

This is what constitutes the personal style of each artist. This game is felt in every brushstroke as summarized by Victor Hugo: “My father… this hero, his bravery… on the evening of a battle, moved, handed his water flask to a wounded man who suddenly seized a pistol and aimed at my father, his horse swerved and saved him… Still, give him something to drink said my father.” Whoever engages in life without supreme ideals must be tolerant, have a candid soul, have a grand vision, a love without borders, and a transparent innocence.

William Matar Translated from French: Mayda Samaha