37. Manantial, 1993

As a work method, Gerzso elaborates fine sketches on bond paper. He has a thorough archive of all the drawing studies he has done for each painting. From a loose sketch, he sets about establishing a geometrical scheme. He determines points of intersection of lines by use of the golden mean. "I used to ruin canvases; I read that Mr. da Vinci also did several preparatory drawings, to the point that when the drawings were finished he was no longer interested in the painting. Those are the true battlefields. I envy Mr. Picasso, who would begin a painting just to see what came from it, and if it turned out, then fine. But my style is like flying an airplane; you cannot improvise."

Gunther registers every work session in a folder; which pigments he has used, how many layers he has put down, what oil, which varnish, and the date.

For Gerzso, painting is learned by looking. He has spent days in the Louvre differentiating Titian from Tintoretto. "A painting is not only the theme but the substance, the way it has been painted. Venus and Adonis six feet away, but also at twelve inches. My uncle told me I had to observe until the artist's very soul had entered me.

"I admire Morandi, who takes a bottle and paints it. When I see Bonnard's wife, having a cup of tea with her dog and cherries, I find it marvelous. A painting must be brought to a point where it communicates the emotion that informed it. Then it detaches itself from that emotion and acquires its own life. That is when spirit inhabits matter. A painting isn't always achieved because it does not always reach that point. I see paintings as patients. We are the doctors who try to save them"

In Gerzso's life, everyday routine has the same precision as his painting. When he was in film he would wake up at five in the morning and would not go to bed until ten at night. These days he wakes up at six-thirty, starts reading at seven. At nine he has breakfast and sometimes goes back to bed to finish a book. He showers, and goes up to his studio, working until two. He has lunch and half an hour later goes to his room to read Newsweek or The New York Times Book Review, The London Book Review, or a catalogue if it has arrived in the mail. He devours essays, histories of art, biographies, novels, poetry.

What happens after painting, family, and books?

"Nothing happens because there is nothing more. I watch television, starting with the news, but I am not really interested in what I am seeing. It helps me concentrate, and ideas develop for the next day. Television is just an instrument. I can't concentrate in silence. I am fascinated by this procedure, this new use for television. Where, from the screen filled with realistic, boring, and tacky images, ideas for a sketch are born. In the same way, when I'm listening to music I concentrate on the CD's cover or on the booklet. I read and listen, listen and read."