The Whirling Sun 1966

Editor: This is Karel Appel's "The Whirling Sun," created in 1966 using acrylic paint. It strikes me as intensely energetic and primal, almost childlike in its raw expression of form. What do you make of it? Curator: Oh, Karel. I always felt he danced on the edge of chaos, didn't you think? It's as if the sun, our life-giver, is exploding, flinging colors and shapes everywhere. Appel, with his CoBrA roots, never shied away from rawness. Do you sense a feeling of freedom in the brushstrokes? Editor: Definitely, there's a real sense of freedom. It feels immediate, not labored over. Almost like the sun itself painted it. The bright colors remind me a little of Fauvism, is that intentional? Curator: Good eye! Absolutely. Appel was wrestling with those giants – Matisse, Derain – twisting their fauvist love of color with something wilder, more instinctive. It's as though he’s inviting us to feel the energy of the cosmos with our guts, not just our minds. He’s asking us "what would a child imagine a whirling sun to look like?" Editor: That makes perfect sense. It's so refreshing to encounter something that bypasses intellect and goes straight to pure sensation. Like jazz, maybe? Curator: Exactly! A free-form improvisation where the rules are bent and broken, creating a vibrant, untamed symphony. Think of it as visual bebop. This really opens up our minds and lets us remember just how awesome and playful are the inner depths. Editor: Wow, I'll never look at this painting the same way again! Curator: Me neither! The painting constantly reveals a vibrant interplay between Apollonian form and Dionysian fervor.