(Arūnas Vaitkūnas (1956-2005). “Prince’s Tale”, canvas, oil, 90x70cm. August of 2004, Margionys) Aušra Barzdukaitė-Vaitkūnienė, July of 2007, 2007 08 16

Barrow of A. Vaitkūnas by which he transported paints and canvases “to the motif" in Margionys village.

A.Vaitkūnas. Prince’s Tale. 2004

There exist different methods and ways of creation.


There is one method of creation which burns the creator himself. It is painting as if you would die afterwards.


Performing everything to the end as there may be no tomorrow. Pure existentialism. The border which means the feeling of life.


It is a pity that I did not have a filming camera then. Even though it may be good, as not all secrets may be shown.


Still, I may not refrain from telling them. I saw a ritual dance then. The dance of painting which touches the depths of the heart.


Arūnas had a barrow in the homestead. A simple barrow for carrying soil. However, he transported paints, the palette and canvases in it. It looked impressively – Arūnas used to load everything and then he went to draw from nature. The view reminded me of the painting by Van Gogh “Painter Travelling to Arl.”


Midday of August. It is stifling, crazy grasshoppers are singing. Dried-out grass is white from drought, only the one hundred-year-old maples are dark green in the yard. The leaves of maples do not rustle, and the sky is getting darker and darker behind them.


The painter is heading to paint. He pushes the barrow on the crackly grass. He finds a place, a situation. Still, the time has not come yet...


The first distant thunder. The sign has been given. The mystery begins...


The colours are changing – they are going darker, grasshoppers stop stridulating. Silence descends. The painter’s dance starts. Black sky is torn by white lightning.


The son Tomas and me feel scared. We are running to the cabin. It is dark as at night there. Blasts of wind are bending trees already. Arūnas is painting holding the canvas by one hand. He retreats, gathers momentum and attacks the canvas with a brush as if being enraged. The gestures of hands are spontaneous, without intuition, calculated by internal laws and seeing. The misses are purposeful – he seems to be painting as if it was the last time.


The wind and blue black clouds cover everything. The yellowish-white grass turns grey. Discharges of electricity, orange lightning. Thunder sounds like a powerful drum accompanying painting. The man is so small in front of the element. However, Arūnas and the element have become one now. They are dancing a joint dance...


A painting. No, it is more than a painting. “Prince’s Tale”.


We are scared but there are more important things than life. It is the truth. The Painter’s Truth.


Arūnas: “I take a glance at Tomas’ eyes, so trustful and so purely open eyes of a child, and I cannot lie.”


He also loved citing Justinas Mikutis: “They will die because they trust in the power of lie.”


The prince, carrier of truth, with child’s eyes. Arūnas loved Tomas immensely. He loved telling stories and tales after it got dark. To Tomas.


His son was a prince for him. He left a work about truth which is dearer than life to the son.

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