Writing about Picasso may seen unnecessary; there have been written all possible biographies about him and about his work there have been devised all sorts of theories. However, they still remain mysterious, heterogeneous, without unity or any kind of continuity. What makes the artist be unsteady, refuse evolution, do without a goal for his work that he could follow? That has always intrigued me...
The explanation, of course, lies in the artist's troubled life. Picasso lived intensely: like a cat, he had seven lives. In each of them there's a woman, each with their own personality, seen and loved in a different way. And art is life. Picasso draws, paints or moulds for the woman that is the centre of his life in each moment of his life, as if there never was a past and there'll never be a future. I don't search - I find, he once said.
After a rough period, life starts smiling at the painter, who expresses himself in shades of pink. It's 1905, and the painter has just met his first love, Fernande Olivier(Amélie Lang).
In 1918 he meets Olga Khokhlova, a Russian ballerina and his first wife. Like ballet, Picasso's work becomes classical.
Marie-Thérèse Walter appears in the artist's life. She is a blonde young lady that carries with her the joy of living...
On the other hand, Dora Maar fascinates Picasso with her sad, suffering look and her frequent melancholy crisis. Besides, she speaks fluent Spanish! Their relashionship begins in 1936. Picasso's most aggressive and dark paintings, such as "Guernica", are from this period.
In 1943 a new woman enters Picasso's life: Françoise Gilot.
Finally, in 1954, the painter meets Jacqueline Rocque, his last companion. And, again, everything is transformed.
The different styles I have been using in my art shouldn't be seen as an evolution or as steps taken towards an unknown, ideal painting. Everything I have done so far, has been done solely for the present, with the hope that the present remains... Everytime I've wanted to say something, I said it in the way I thought I should say it. (...) A painting is not preconcieved or predetermined; while it's being painted, it follows the inconstancy of the idea.
Someone asked the artist, when he was closing in on 90 years old: Do you ever think about death? Yes - he answered - ever since I was a young boy. It has been the only woman that has always been with me...