Cartas Confinadas - Harper's Bazaar
01-06-2020 | Harper's Bazaar
It is as if the air
will hijack the sigh of the landscape.
As if reality
is borrowed from miracles.
A circus of stars
disguised as golden fish.
The moon turns on
singing melancholic sonnets to me.
stone of bread,
sea turned into wine.
With you I share
the last supper of my delirium.
For me this moment commenced two years ago in my studio, whilst observing the canvases that cover my strength. I remember that I had a sensation comparable to the urgent need to survive, to approach life tremendously and to want to penetrate the matrix of essence.
I spend a good time observing from a distance, like a stranger without the inheritance rights to passed feelings, wondering why does one hold on to a feeling that has already lived, a momentum that has already been breathed? Why are you holding on, why? Why this obsession with keeping the past? What is the essence of art? What is the true emotion of life? It cannot be effort upon effort. We bathe ourselves in collective opinions, we move further and further away from individual intuition and we end up being what public opinion thinks of you.
I suddenly had an animalistic need to get up from my chair, unhook the canvas from the wall, undress it from its frame and throw myself on it with my feet, my fists and my teeth. It was the most profound exercise in freedom that I have ever experienced. Letting go of the matter, of its relationship with the price established through the years in which my work was showcased within a particular cultural climate.
I remember my studio being in a state of silence with the canvas, which had become something so different, so true, yet so the same, all through the impression of enormous surprise and heightened emotions. Chunks of matter spread across the ground. Stepping on them, I heard the voices of the past clearer than ever. They were like songs greeting life.
The consequences from that day in my life seemed dramatic; I had destroyed the roof, the foundations, the walls of my professional world, but at the same time walls appeared everywhere. Walls that could be transformed, bent, enlarged and reduced. Everything at the disposal to the need of my feelings and creativity. My studio had instantly invaded the landscape of the world. I have never been so aware that human beings must deconstruct themselves to remake themselves.
Of course, that is not easy. You can only find the strength to see and live this experience when you truly believe that living is your right. Only then transformation is a new possibility, being a transit between life and death.
The current situation in the world reminds me a lot of that silence of uncertainty, that inability to remember what has been transformed. Those eternal questions that we humans ask ourselves when change occurs: What will happen? What comes next? What will we be left with of what we used to have? What am I going to recognize about my new situation? Who will I become in the future in the absence of mirrors?
The mirrors have broken and the fragments reflect different pieces of our strengths, but what they also do is that they capture light by multiplying it and forcing us to see space in different perspectives. This is not the time when the ego allows us to become vulnerable. Curiously, the best of humans comes out in situations where the ego is tied by hands and feet.
My melancholic character has a tendency to fade roses, but this time it will not succeed. Seeing through the eyes of the carnivorous man who desperately attempts to debone life, but who has suddenly lost his teeth. We now have a tremendous opportunity to chew with ethics and love. Pink shines like never before in humanity's desire for the future.