zbog lijeposti bitka odslikava se istina kao ljepota plamteć oduvijek ljudima, kada se istina slika lijepa je. radi ljepote je radost viđenja koja se daju vidu vidjeti kao istina, radi ljepote je najposlije i umjetnost koja ostaje uvijek, hoteći lijepo sustići, na tragu sustizanja. a umjetnošću makar nadnosimo vijekove običnog trajanja, kada se kaže umjetnost i kada se preko izrijeka putimo dalje, do neizrecive kaze razvića, izriče se nekako i ono što ono umjetničko mami u djelo, što traži da se pojavi uopće: slikovna narav bitka, po toj se naravi bitak postavlja u biće; bićno istinstvuje kao slika, slika se, odnosno, sebe proizvodi u pojav. ovo pak proizvođenje jest sebe drugo ljepote, ono što sudbovno pripada umjetnosti zarobljujući ju istim pripadanjem samo ako jest a ne radije da nije, jest biće koje odslikava unutarnjost sveg bićnog u sliku, jest bit umjetnosti, tek sada umjetnost postaje doživljaj, smjelost kojom se putimo ili ne, da bi snagu koraku podarilo nešto drugo želimo li dospijeti unutra ostati, naposljetku se pod vidom umjetničkog delanja zgotovljuju bića mogućim uradcima. djelo pokazuje podjednako zastirući ono »kako« se radi i ono »što« se radi u umjetnosti, ali nije svejedno kako ovo »što« uz ovo »kako« ide. samo ako je umjetnost osposobljeni smo za ono prvotnije umjetnosti.

u nenadovim se slikama sivo odjenulo crno ili crno u sivo možda više da pođu lakše za vremenom stići, sivocrne boje mirišu vrijeme, ali, udaljenije više kotrljaju se u ono pravo pitanje koje otvara pogledu istom obzor vremenski i najposlije zastaje otrgnuto bez odgovora, hoću reći bez da kažem bez odgovora ili tako nekako uopće, u boji miruje vrijeme crno-sivim nemirima prisutno prisutnije od sveg prisutnog u odsutnosti svojoj, u boji se roje prostori bez uskraćivanja iako su sivih ili drugobojnih tajni, bojom se prolijevaju oblici, pute linije, nijemo se raduje ljepota, u boji niče smjelost odveć velikih nadanja. u boji se mrače sjene posljednjih gledanja, u boji crno je noć-nija noć iako se i dan brže primiče.

ovi crni kotlovi sivi, naše lubanje glatke tutnje u misao bijeloprozirnovlažno-glatku, inače koja živi samosvojno veoma rasprostirući se inače životvorno svijetom pocrnjelom od trajanja, strojnoljudske ove preobrazbe potonule ljepote koje sve više nije, preobrazbe povijesnih ljusaka, zadobivaju u djelu umjetnika svoj poseban život, život to je prema ljudskosti makar zarđalim korakom, hodom željeznog zglo-, bovlja. kakav je smisao od svijeta oglu-pavljenog, do odnemoglosti "raspolovljenog, svijeta kotrljajućeg prugama nikuda? u njegovoj otežalosti sve većoj iskusiti nam je i uzmoći prepoznati zgodu još nerođenog, kada bi samo znali što opet misle ispuštajući nas u pisak iz trbuha ovi crni kotlovi sivi? samo da misao još ne umine!

tragač traga tragom traženoga ostavljajući sebe za sobom opet natrag zagonetnome, kako da kažem, uvijek na tragu, i tako tragajući pronalazi ne nalazeći makar postajući ono vazda traganja, a kako je biti tragač teško! htio sam reći, slikajući je živjeti dostojno povratka odakle smo, na kom putu predugačkom za vraćanje naše inače, obdarimo se odslikavajućim trenom slikovnog trajanja, kad već nismo kao što bi mogli biti izađimo po sebe barem u sliku, u tome je sav napor, svako nadanje: ili jesmo ili nismo slika!

đuka opačić

because of the beauty of the being truth appears in a picture as beauty glowing to people down the ages, when truth is depicted it is beautiful, for beauty's sake there exists the joy of seeing which allows vision to see itself as truth, art also exists for the sake of beauty, art, which remains for ever, wanting to attain the beautiful, always on the trail of attainment, in art we live beyond the age of our ordinary duration, when we say »art« and go further via-the utterance of this word to the inexpressible articulation of totality, at the same time we somehow express that which the artistic entices into a work and which asks to appear: the pictorial quality of the being, the being^puts itself in existence through this quality; the being's nature exists as truth, as a picture and a picture makes itself a phenomenon, this making is another beauty, what organically belongs to art, captivating it with this same belonging, on condition that it is art, - this is the being which paints the interior of all the being's nature into the picture, the essence of art. only now does art become' an experience, courage with which we move on, or don't, something which allows something else to strengthen 'bur pace so that, if we want, we can get to the inside and stay there, finally, in the form of artistic impression, the beings are united in all possible effects, the work shows by veiling both the »how« and »what« In art. but it is not a matter of indifference how this »what« suits »how«. only if this is art are we capable of drawing near what is primary in art.

in nenad's pictures grey has clothed itself in black or black in grey, perhaps in order to start off more easily after time and catch up with it. greyish-black colours forebode time, but more removed colours trundle into that real question which opens up to us the temporal horizon and, finally, stands wrenched off without any answer. I want to say this without any response but also not in a generalised manner., time reposes in colour in greyish-black restlessness, time which is present, more present than anything present in its absence, spaces swarm in colour in abundance, even though they are grey or some other colour, forms spill over In colour, lines travel, beauty silently rejoices, the audacity of overgreat hopes arises in colour, in colour the shadows of recent viewings grow dark, in colour black is darker night, though the day, too, approaches more quickly.

these grey-black boilers, our smooth skulls thunder into a whitish-transparent--damp-smooth thought that lives independently spreading itself out creatively across a world black from existing, these mechanically human transformations of faded beauty, of which there is less and less, transformations of historical shells acquire their own particular life in the artist's work, life is, in relation to humanity, the march of iron joints, though at a rusty pace, what is the sense of a world stupefied, split asunder from lan-gour, a world rolling along railway lines to nowhere? in its increasingly difficult situation we should try to recognise the event of the unborn, if only we knew what these grey-black boilers think when they again let us out of their stomach into the whistle! just as long as the thought does not yet disappear!

the searcher follows the track of what he i looking for, constantly leaving himself behind himsefl to the enigmatic, how shall I put it, always on the track, and searching in this way, he locates without finding, though becoming constant searching, and how difficult it is to be a searcher! by this I mean that living by painting is worthy of the return to where we came from, though that journey is too long for our return, let us endow ourselves with the moment that depicts our pictorial existence, as we are not what we could be, let us at least go out for ourselves into a picture, our whole effort, all our hope, is in this going out: either we are or are not a picture!

djuka opacic

slika slikuje, tj. opstoji i jest odslika-vajući slikovnost bitka, ova je odslikana i u slikovitosti bića. no bogovi, priroda, čovjek i zajedništvo slikovitošću svojom samo su paslike slikovnosti bitka, slika nije paslika. i kada odslikava bića ona slika bitak, naime, bitak kao biće. bića su, »naravno«, opstojnošću svojom »više« od slike, ona »žive«, ali po biti svojoj slika je »više«, jer u njoj ne »živi« slikovitošću bića zakrivena slikovnost bitka, nego u njoj živi upravo bitak sam kao slika, bogove, prirodu ili čovjeka slika ona samo ukoliko su i dok su oni likovi bitka, ukoliko pak bitak nema bića koje mu priliči, slika ipak slika njega, a ne neko biće. moguće »izčeznuće« bića iz slike kao tzv. obespredmećenje, primjerice, samo je očišćenje od slikovitosti, ono što u slici ostaje, dok slika jest slika, slikovnost je bitka koja i u prozirnosti bez-bojne i bezoblične slike izlazi na vidjelo.

na vidjelo iznesena slikovnost bitka u slici nije drugo nego vidljiva, ili, kao slika opstojeća istina, po istini slika jest istinita, istinska slika jest slika bitka, sve ostalo, »veće« ili »manje«, »bolje« ili »lošije« slikarstvo puko je slikanje, a kada ono »biti« svega »što jest« zasjaji, bljesne, svjetlošću obasja u slici ono vidno, istina je tu »lijepa kao slika«.

i u slikarstvu, dakle, sve ovisi o slučaju bitka ili o onome kako, zašto i gdje je sve »što jest«, pa kada bitak više ni u čemu ne pronalazi svoj prayi lik, ratujući sa svime i sa samim sobom na život i smrt za ono što mu priliči, tada, tu i tamo, u predahu između borbi, kroz slikarstvo i njemu odanog slikara, pronalazi on svoju, »našoj« borbi odgovarajuću sliku: sivilo umjesto onog božanskog, do tuposti ne-snalažljivo biće-čovjeka i prirodu u razudbi putem sebeproizvodećeg gvozdenog besmisla, slika, tako reći, u bijegu, a sve, prividno, kao rastavaranje tkiva same slikarske moći.

slikarstvo, ljubeći sebe u istinskom slikaru, rađa sliku kao ljepotu onog, koje makar i do jezovitosti strahovito, nosi zanos nerođenog.

branko despot

a picture depicts, that is, it exists and is in its depiction of the pictorial quality of the being, this pictorial quality is also reflected in the picturesqueness of existents. but gods, nature, man and the community are, in their picturesque-ness, merely negatives of the pictorial quality of the being, a picture is not a negative/and when it reflects existents it depicts the being, that is, the being as existent, existents are, »naturally« in their existing »more« than a picture, they »live«. but in its essence a picture is »more«, for the ptcforial quality of the being does not »live« in it hidden by the picturesqueness of existents, but rather the being itself lives in it as a picture, a picture depicts gods, nature or man only in as much as and while they are images of the being, when the being has no existent which resembles it, a picture does, however, depict it, and not some existent, the possible "disappearance" of existents from the picture - the so-called »immaterialisation«, for example - is merely the cleansing of all picturesqueness from the picture, what remains in the picture, while the picture is a picture, is the pictorial quality of the being which comes to light even in the transparency of a colourless and formless picture.

the pictorial quality of the being which is brought to light in the picture is nothing other than the visible, or, as a picture, existent truth, truth makes a picture true, a true picture is a picture of the being, all the rest, the »great« or »poor«, »superior« or »inferior« painting is merely painting, and when the being of everything »that is« shines forth, flashes, lights up the visible in the picture, here the truth is »as beautiful as a picture*.

in painting, too, therefore, everything depends on the state of the being or on how, why and wh^re everything »that is« is. and when the being no longer finds its real image in anything, fighting to the death with everything and itself for that which resembles it, then occasionally, in pauses between the battles, through painting and the devoted painter, it finds its own picture which corresponds to »our« battle: greyness instead of the divine, dull-witted resourceless being-man and nature dissected by means of self-producing iron nonsense, a picture, so to speak, in flight, and all, apparently, as the decomposition of the fabric of painting power itself.

painting, in love with Itself in the true painter, gives birth to a picture as the beauty of that which, even though dreadful to the point of horribleness, bears the rapture of the unborn.

branko despot