Paul Klee

In a moment reminiscent of the one in which I realized that The Beatles weren't American (thankfully don't remember and therefore can't admit when that happened), I found out last weekend that the artist Paul Klee is (mostly) Swiss. The Swiss art museum we were at decided to claim him, anyway.

Even though he was born, grew up, and died in Switzerland and even though his mother was Swiss, he was considered German like his father. And, tragically, his application for citizenship wasn't approved until after he died. No exceptions to the process, I guess.

Klee has always been one of my favorite modern artists, at least partially, I know, because of my attraction to all things tiny. Who can resist those little symbolic drawings, the birdies and the fishes, the tiny figures floating in a spiritual stew of color and music? I learned at the museum that many people underestimated him because of his primitive style. But I appreciate it -- I'm glad that he knew that some things are too complicated to understand as an adult. And now that I know he's Swiss (if only in his heart), I like him even more!