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02
one.Reflection
Just as painting does not consist of depicting things, enjoying art cannot be reduced to just interpreting it. In my opinion, a picture, as well as being a surface on which the forms are built up using paint, is also an isolated piece of the surrounding reality, an open window onto people’s gazes, a window that we look out of, a chance to escape this reality in search of other places. Although many years ago the metropolis was that place that the gods erected for the children (men) to live in, the reasons that have led to cities forming today are largely economic or military. That rational city, tailor made for human beings, an icon of 'civilised humanity', has come to take on its condition as a trap, a nerve centre, a prison, fulfilling its Orwellian role, always under the watchful gaze of Big Brother. A technified industrial landscape, with statistical parks and mathematical gardens, where cloned emotions and identical, efficient, 'healthy' and hard-working individuals grow. They live in niche-spaces, ruled by fear, regulations, order, surveillance and security. It is positivism as a dream of senselessness, rooted in strict Calvinist morality. Material progress as the engine that drives us towards a destination, a chimera, happiness to be found always in an uncertain future. Letting the present slip away from us. All on a global, geopolitical and cybernetic stage: the information society, the era of huge inequalities (development/underdevelopment, opulence/misery, waste/hunger...), with constant migratory flows, individuals on the move, watched over, in virtual relationships and with digital orgasms. It is post-humanism that postulates consumerist hedonism in a global arena called 'the market', where we all cease to be people and become clients, trapped in the cycle: produce, market, consume. To escape, get away, get out of here. In their 'free time', citizens want to escape; they travel, they get away, seeking out other places, travelling long distances to lose themselves, to find themselves, to identify, to escape their identity. They seek abstract sensations, between the real and the ideal, where illusions take place, where that instant is forged, that yearned-for moment that we call 'happiness'. That moment that we will evoke time and again in that loop in which we are pleasantly trapped and which we call 'time'. Behind the appearance of sea paintings, in 'Azul (Blue)' there is an underlying meaning that has more to do with the sensorial and the emotional, something more universal, which connects us to everyone and to everything. Hard to intellectualise. Without filters. It is felt in the heart, or not at all. It tells us of the daily experience of days going by, of seasonal cycles, transformations, rhythms, of non-coincidences, of light and of darkness. The sea, nature, their freedom is the pretext to connect with the gaze within. Colour produces an echo in the soul. The soul, as a kind of love that links us to everything and makes us grow. The blue sea, the natural destination of every river. The absence of figures helps the viewer to approach the solitude and isolation that characterises the life of the post-post-modern man in the big city. Maybe current society is thirsty for sincere, humble and convincing proposals. Proposals that can waken the life-spirit reactivate the currents of energy that move us, and thus recover the faith in the capacity for reinvention of human beings and their destiny. Maybe we are missing a Mother-place in which to exist, to feed from. That place to return to, the origin and starting point, from which to set out on our own adventure, from where to trace our own horizons. Water is the essence, seventy per cent of what we are. Blue, its colour. The colour of purity and intelligence, of knowledge and virginity, the colour of this small planet to which we belong. Water, air and light are the essential elements which at some point, more than four million years ago, created life and thanks to which we are still here. The 'Azul' series of paintings is a defence of the passion and joy of living. They work like dramatic poems that reflect the achievement of modern man, proof of individual love as well as a sign of collective identity. In them, the nature of the sea is shown to calm and balanced. The diffuse brushstroke and the somewhat excited colour. It is the inner light of the pictures that attracts viewers to their own space; the colour, the engine that invokes the profound experience; the sea, the sensed form through which the exchange of emotions is established, thus internalising the sentiment of the landscape. To express the vitality of the unknown, of the unconscious or the forgotten through the well-known, the nearby and the familiar is a useful way for the viewer to become immersed in their intimacy and feel the tick-tock of their heart full of life, excitement and hope. It is an invitation to live in the present, placing us before the world with the intensity, surprise and innocence of a child. That is the true revolution, to take chaos on board, to wander through our own selves, to enjoy that expansive and contagious joy, feeding a creative spirit that is projected towards others. Our cry would be: in-ten-si-ty and in-stant. Intensity in our privileged moment: this one now. Time disappears, or rather freezes (placed in parentheses), or as Merleau-Ponty defined it, “time is not a line but a network of intentionalities”, a set of points, of multiple instances, a time without direction, lacking linearity. I have chosen a spatial condition that seeks a horizontal dimension, where one plane floats or levitates above another, creating fluidity in the discourse and where subjectivity is the creative matter. Synthesis, with regard to image brevity, aims to transmit a sense of the snapshot, of frozen time, a moment unfinished, in transition. So viewers are what give continuity to the action and, through their imagination, their memory, experience that banal moment. The serenity of the lines, the atmosphere of colour created and the balance that the parts take on aim to transmit an optimistic message, vindicating the banal moment as an aesthetic experience. An unfinished instant which, like haiku, shows us the extraordinary in the ordinary of daily life.
Patricia Bonet

two. Inflection
Horizon, a convergence and vanishing point, one of yearnings and dreams, which expands us and which limits us, without limiting us. Illusion of illusions, mirage, kiss, fantasy, corner of skies and seas. Wonderful uncertainty. A no place inhabited in our thoughts as a line circling the circle, as a concept that contains the distance. Just like ourselves, the horizon is a paradox, a chimera. Just like ourselves, as we go along, we are being, we are ceasing to be. That when we arrive, it moves further away. We move further away. -The Blue said: “So, where did our innocence go? Perhaps in that gaze full of curiosity that is still searching. Searching”. -And the horizon whispered to the Blue: “Today I am here. Here. Where else do you think I am. And I feel strange, because I’m usually somewhere else”. At these times, thousands of suns reverberate like silver sardines on the sea. Millions, sparkling in the blue. I think about happiness. I think about happiness like a whisper in my ear. A breath-like whisper. A whisper, from which I remember the moistness left by the tip of a tongue. I remember the skin down my neck shivering. A whisper with a message that I can’t remember; maybe the message was just to tremble, or sway. I think about happiness, giving off sparks like a fragile and volatile suggestion. At other times, I think about it like a perhaps, a maybe another time. And the present has gone by one more time. When I stop thinking about what I’m thinking about, only then will I think about fear. Now, I let myself be run through by my thoughts, I see them pass like free thoughts, are you following me, sweetheart? Letting me cross over to observe them. Only then have I realised something that I already knew: they are not me. My thoughts are not me. I was so looking forward to this light, and now that I have it in front of me, I realise that I am light. The Sun is fading. The sea must continue, turning the afternoon into velvet. At this time of the day, its sound is a deaf, reiterated sound, like a mantra, like a truce. I am sure that the boats have started switching on their lights on deck, glistening on a greyish, sea-green line. A whisper, a fragile suggestion, making it shudder. Maybe a boomerang, a boy on the other shore inventing the lunar ellipse with his finger, from the cardo to the decumanus, from the sky to the sea. Happiness turned into projectile weapons to be launched into that return infinity, where the further you launch it, the shorter is the range. The eternal return? Here it is, tracing eutopias, fleeting spherical triangles on the bank of your waves, their goodbyes. And meanwhile, between lines, scanning harmonics to caress the tides, although you know full well that your enjoyment is in the swinging, the rocking, the shuddering.
Xano Viciano
 
 
03


BLUE
120*220. Oil on wood
2009.2010
04


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
05


BLUE
110*170. Oil on wood
2009.2010
06


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
07


BLUE
120*220. Oil on wood
2009.2010
08


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
09


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
10


BLUE
120*180. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
11


BLUE
120*120. Óleo sobre madera
2009.2010
12


BLUE
110*180. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
13


BLUE
110*180. Oil on wood
2009.2010
14


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
15


BLUE
120*180. Oil on wood
2009.2010
16


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
17


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
18


BLUE
110*170. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
19


BLUE
110*170. Oil on wood
2009.2010
20


BLUE
120*100. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
21


BLUE
120*180. Oil on wood
2009.2010
22


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
23


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
24


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
25


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
26


BLUE
120*180. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
27


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
28


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
 
 
29


BLUE
120*120. Oil on wood
2009.2010
30


AZUL
180*180. Oil on canvas
2011
 
 
31


AZUL
60*60. Oil on canvas
2011
32


AZUL
60*60. Oil on canvas
2011
 
 
33


AZUL
60*60. Oil on canvas
2011
34


AZUL
60*60. Oil on canvas
2011
 
 
35


AZUL
60*60. Oil on canvas
2011
36


AZUL
60*60. Oil on canvas
2011
 
 
37


AZUL
60*60. Oil on canvas
2011
38


AZUL
60*60. Oil on canvas
2011
 
 
39


AZUL
60*60. Oil on canvas
2011
40


AZUL
50*100. Oil on canvas
2011
 
 
41


AZUL
50*50. Oil on canvas
2011
42


AZUL
50*50. Oil on canvas
2011
 
 
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