Oiseau, insecte, constellation depends upon a finite number of pure marks and symbolic gestures pared down to create a very succinct, powerful impression. Miro’s profound influence on American Abstract Expressionism is well known, but the fine splatter, spray and drips here suggest Pollock, whose work epitomized Harold Rosenberg’s insistence that a canvas should not be an object, but rather “an area in which to act.” As for the preponderance of black as the bedrock of its deeply expressed impact, Franz Kline comes to mind. On the other hand, as much as Oiseau, insecte, constellation is bursting with energy, it is also restrained in ways that clearly point to a gestural approach characterized by his intrigue for what he called the ‘Japanese soul’. Indeed, he gained the appreciation during a trip to Japan in 1966 and later, when he worked to decorate a pavilion at the International Exposition in Osaka when he wielded large brushes loaded with paint as if he were a Japanese calligrapher with a samurai mindset. The experience left an indelible mark on his working method.

 Oiseau, insecte, constellation is as much a stand-out painting as it is an outstanding one. In addition to its stark impact, there is a strength of purpose about it; one that deserves context of the sort we associate with the Constellation series produced during one of the most violent and chaotic times in history. Interpret and reconfigure the central motif — presumably intended as amalgamated bird and insect imagery — and it can take on the tenacious spirit of a pugilistic mantis, or perhaps, in a further leap of the imagination, a boxer. By deconstructing his process, or progression of creative actions, we assume Miró stopped in front of the canvas and with a few reflexive flicks of his brush left a burst of misted pigment. As a first act in creating the work, it suggests his emotional state and if so, let it be the pent-up emotion he felt, a four-decade long reflex to Franco, authoritarian rule, and the pall of anti-freedom he always hated. Franco was suffering from advanced Parkinson’s and sundry health issues when Mirò created Oiseau, insecte, constellation in Feburary, 1974.But if Oiseau, insecte, constellation has a political stake embedded in its symbolism, why stop here? The color black has long symbolized anarchism. But it also represents a mood of anger and outrage at all heinous crimes against humanity perpetrated in the name of allegiance to one state or another. Yet the most poignant evidence of this trail of interpretation is that Oiseau, insecte, constellation was created the same month as the series of three paintings entitled The Hope of a Condemned Man. All are products of a time of political decisions that shocked the painter, and which included the life of young anarchist Salvador Puig Antich sentenced to be executed by garotte. He was, on March 2, 1974. Not surprisingly, Miro was seen pacing up and down at the opening of an exhibition in 1978, shortly after Franco’s demise. When his wife Pilar told him to sit down, he refused. “Damn it, let them see me standing up,” he said. “I painted these paintings in a frenzy, with real violence so that people will know I’m alive, that I’m breathing, that I have a few more places to go.” He was 85. “I’m heading in new directions!” (Tim Adams, ‘Joan Miro: A Life in Paintings’, The Guardian, 19 March 2011)