Higher
still and higher
From the earth thou springest,
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever
singest.
Ode to a
Skylark. Shelley
My painting
could be a skylark.
The
painting of the body –or the last metaphor it is a reflex (ion)-the action on
space occupation in painting and the possibilities of the gestures when
painting that movement that never repeats itself no matter the brain effort and
enthusiasm to duplicate the initial result. It is a struggle between the mental
copy and the improvisation of action-the thought that wants to turn into understandable
expression and the gesture movement that wants to be.
That is the
reason why the body is still free and mad. The body is the before and the after,
it inhabits and empties the space that is the distance between me and my
geographical place. My painting is the body that gets the light and the spark
/glow that comes from the glowing orient but it is the shadow that reveals and
acts while the skylark rests. It is the shadow that keeps the painting
suspending between celestial nature and earth nature.
Being a
body myself I see questioning, I see powerful light that drags and submits
everything to reshape forms. In its opposite I see the shadow that gives consciousness
to the double originated from the reflection meditation.
It is the
shadow that recuperates the body and that makes us “here and now” humans. It is
the shadow that symbolizes the day that avoids the night. The skylark also
introduces the down, while the nightingale comes with the sunset.
The goal of
my painting is to bring my body to the the flight of the skylark.
The
creative artist becomes the perspective flyer.
Art makes
the re-bond of the body to the world and the world to me. It is then/at that
moment that the present nature does not prepare the future and it is not
history.
It is a two
side encounter between the hand and the passage of time that acts upon the
shape.
I have
found out that painting it not a battlefield where you fight for space/ground.
I paint
freedom.
I have been
thinking that I look for the division, the original fissure that flees through
the body as it has no other way to show itself. It is exactly in this fissure
that my work is based on…. The canvas becomes the place of possibility of
division/ intuition,a place of display not of images/picture scenarios but of
the being itself, full of rather cognoscible existences. Only the keen eye of
true thinking is able to see it. I stay in silent, interpreting privately,
because I do not want to die……..
We are so
uncertain!
This
painting is the presentation of a singular event of a sloping body that makes
the canvas the meaning of its existence, its desire and its denial.
This way,
in this bodily experience of looking and making a random idea/thought to move at
an impatient pace uncompromising, seductive. The canvas entangles with me through
the body of the painting, uncertain whether to be light or shadow. Every
painting is body and every body is shadow…the shadow is the silence, it is the
metaphor that subjectivities the world(thing). The shadow is visible,
transparent almost enigmatic as the universe that carries it. To change the
shadow into magic, is a constant conversion of the essence of things into the
things of essence……It is as if the thoughts and subjective process become
things- that the viewer/spectator transforms again into subject interpreting, trying
out to look until the void is found and thus,
articulating an area of the (un)known.
To change
the shadow into magic it is like painting outside the self, with an intention with
an intentional sphere that does not mean to stop being, but to leave it open.to
make it free for the other feasible-outcome. If you protect the shadow we never
lose the sense of the body, being this projection the fecundation of the place,
ground of existence, it is the beginning of the transcend between man and
nature in a sort of colourful initial ritual.
The act of
painting as a problem is for me an anthropological question like humanity as a
species is in the beginning, it is possible that this painting a mediator
technique resembles itself to the successive come and go of the lark from the
ground to the sky and vice-versa, uniting the two poles of existence. She is
also a sort of mediator.
In these
pictorial forms there is a powerful source of abstraction that reshapes the
existence of sensitive things (objects) implying its existence into ideal sensations?
The contour limits the transformation, the lines enhance the interactions and
the aleatory /casual textures make the double made by the shadow the
spontaneous product of the conscious of myself- the awareness/conscience of the
fall.
The
skylark, as it flies and elevates itself very rapidly to the sky and the other
way round, it lets itself fall abruptly, symbolizing the evolution and the
involution/entanglement of the conscience.
In this way
painting enables us to fully participate in this permanent slide:
The artist
drags to annihilation and simultaneously enhances the living, the self -lirt,-the
vital.
This complexity
is the intersection between inner self destruction, between the moral disorder
and moral tolerance on it and using it and fighting it back at the same time
till the end, for the sake of good and well-being.
For Bachelard
the skylark is a pure literary image, its high fly, its size and its speed ness
prevents it from being seen, and thus
unable to be a pictorial image .Pure metaphor the skylarks changes itself into
“transparency symbol”, of hard substance, of cry.
To believe
in painting is like a constant reorganization of compromised metaphors always
hostages of the body and thought….and the philosopher quotes Adolpho Rosse:”Listen,
its not the skylark that sings, it’s the infinite coloured bird”
I, being a
body, paint the city without fortress walls of a blue of possibilities, I paint
the vital realities, full of fire and wind.
I as a body
who paints, being more truth than beauty, more desire tans thuth,more tower
than change, I take the passage and create abstraction.
Each
session is interpreted and changed into melancholy because beauty shelters
itself in the fragile and finite body. The marks carry the memories of the
innocent tower. From there the immerse images run away/escape, those I barely understand and see without looking at
the world I live in.I as being a body that paints would like to tell you that
dreams are in our hands and direct themselves to our bodies. It a sustainable imperfection.
I as being
a body that paints want to tell you about this way of not making war. I want to
tell you that I here bring the protected earth, the fine earth, sensitiveness
and equilibrium.
I as a body
that paints ask you to be patient for I do not imitate nature nor the world .I
only write distracted forms of movement that at inhabit my body
I come from
this region ,from the woman as a mother ,near the sea that does not wait for
the waves when the fog disappears.
I as a body
that paints have my hands in the soft sand, I belong to the time when artists
transformed pain.
I as being
a body that paints have the landscapes in my eyes at tea-time.
I would
like my painting to show that the body does not have an image, it’s only a metaphor
and that the body is soul, the original wrap, so that when it is opened it
becomes the matrix of the whole space in the canvas-world.
Painting
uses the body….it is in a reserve in my hands…….it inhabits my eyes my places
and sometimes when you look, you can only see the body because your eyes are
not inhabited by poetry nor do you see the drawing images on the hand You that
look at the body you have to see the line that connects colours so that then
you can unshackle them and find plenitude of abstraction…you that delight
yourself leaned upon the images-forget them, hide them, separate them detract
them and you will see that in a
simple/plain dot point in a sign you will find many other mimes? stimulating..Hilarious…..long…..small….brief….funny……straight….colourful…expressive……imitated….felt…..
“…..colour
of ascension….a jet of sublimation….a vertical of singing…..a wave of joy.
G.Bachelard
