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When I face the challenge that supposes to materialize a new work is when I really feel alive. Without any doubt the act of painting suposes, to me, the intention of looking for, of ordering, of revealing. In my case the dialogue (work-painter) participates from an unforseeable and unalterable thing. My favourite technique is watercolor, that is the reason why I don't usually correct. I elude insisting on a same work although I usually work by series and I focus an idea from diverse points of view.
Everyone of us keeps inside him something that is inherent to himself, something that can not be transmitted, neither copied, not teached. Something that you can not explain and that will go along with you all your live. That something determines our conduct, exceeds our personality and marks and pulls us. I believe that is something inside everyone of us that we don't know and that makes everyone of us different. Particullary it pulls me to express (don't mind the way) that which is inside me. That something is disturbing and definitory, abstract and concrete, and constitues a part of me. I can not give it. It is like my face. It is like my voice. It is mine and of nobody else. Wonderful and strange.
Opening new ways with an own language. Making things with feeling. Studying the ideas and developing its resolutions. Observing, measuring, comparing, asking and thinking. Running away indeed. Yes, running away from ourselves to look for the color and the shape. To look for somthing that does not exist yet.
Lleno de ilusión y de alegría
estoy trabajando con la caligrafía china y con
la acuarela sintética. Ya conocía desde
años atrás la técnica del pincel chino. Su
sutileza. La exigente destreza de un
medio líquido manchando la textura inmaculada del papel blanco. Ahora
comprendo como el signo puede
esconder algo más que lo literario o un significado acordado por una
comunidad.
No trato de imitar lo visto. Tal vez solo apresar la fragilidad de lo sencillo
(a
veces lo más complicado - las
apariencias suelen engañar). Apresar
esa extraña pregunta que es la letra sin posible traducción.
La letra geométrica
que retorcida y fugaz queda gravada en
mi corazón (tal solo por lo que es), garabato, dibujo, esbozo, código,
si
acaso símbolo... Y todo ello para
responder estéticamente a la eterna pregunta: qué es eso? PINTURA.
Solo pintura, y creo que es suficiente, y lo
demás sobra o es otra cosa.
Texts written by the painter
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