They said Painting

Angela ( Minkova) Gabriel. Born on April 8 1955 in Bulgaria, Europe Angela Gabriel is one of the defining Bulgarian contemporary artists of her generation. Having graduated from the Bulgarian Academy of Fine Art, her work spans decades and is forged by the constantly shifting social, cultural, and political landscapes of the twentieth century. She has shown her work in 63 individual and group exhibitions and projects. Her work takes one away from the ephemeral and into the eternal, with a faint trace of the absurdity we call real life. The spaces she shows are where we all meet in our dreams – the realm that transcends borders and language. In this refuge, we have the chance to think and feel in peace, to be at once together and alone. Angela Minkova’s works are in the collections of the National Art Gallery, Sofia City Art Gallery, City Art Gallery - Dobrich, City Gallery - Plovdiv, Museum of Drawing “El Ferol”, Spain, Leilo Spinelly - Italy, Maurizzio Rocci, Clemente - bewer centre - Holland, Wurzburg, Shutgard-German, Santa Fe, Deloney gallery, Aloha art centre - Kauaii - Ny – the USA and in private collections in Bulgaria, Germany, Turkey, the USA and the UK. She has won the following awards: First prize, International Biennial of Humor and Satire, Gabrovo, Bulgaria (1985); Second prize, International Biennale of Humor and Satire, Gabrovo, Bulgaria (1987); First Prize, International Biennial of Graphic Arts, Varna (1989); First prize, International Biennale of Drawing, El Ferol, Spain (1991). Leilo Spinelly - Italy, Maurizzio Rocci, Clemente - bewer centre - Holland Wurzburg, Shutgard - German Santa Fe, Deloney gallery, Aloha art centre - Kauaii - NY - USA And in private collections in Bulgaria, Germany, Turkey, USA and UK. If somebody tries to convince you they know how the creative process starts, I suggest you don’t fall for it, nobody knows. For the Russian writer Bounin, for instance, it all began when he was five. As he was paging through a medical book, he saw the profile of a man against a hilltop and the words: “A cretin in the mountains.” A colleague of mine grabbed a brush because he spent his childhood slaving away at a big black piano and wanted to taste the freedom the colourful paint-box promised. Dante wrote when he was in love, Pushkin - quite the opposite: “Love passed, a Muse came…” And what can be derived from all this?! The rapture of creation? In reality, I am mostly embittered by disappointment.