Kupka and death.

A couple of weeks ago I was sat in the back of the amphitheatre when the professor put on a painting by Frank Kupka. A mixture of geometrique half circles invaded the screen. Red and blues, black and whites. Deep, riche colors that almost looked like chalk, like dust.

This professor is obviously a fan of philosophy and all that as her course is incredibly dense. It's about spiritualism and nature in art. I have never seen anything like it. Kupka was a medium and a soldier. He believed that his art would reunite both the science of the world and the gift of the soul. He studied theology as if it was a cenotaph. It was a religion without a body, without Christ. He believed the body could be created through the mind. He would paint churches through this lense. The artist's optique elevated his perception of the facade. My grandad would have loved Kupka. He died on the 16 of December 2011, I still think of him sometimes. Every year I go to the cathedral on my birthday and pray for him.

Kupka died in 1957 from lung cancer. I wonder if he was scared, if he had any doubts about his religious endeavours. Did he lay at peace or was he in distress. Death is a destruction of self to form a memory. They say that grief is all the love you never expressed. I don't think that's true. Grief is a memory that makes you sick. It is definitely love but it is also regret. To grieve is to die with the person and to hope to survive without them.