Conversations with Shapes
Escrito por Laura Carmona Ayuso el 11 diciembre, 2013
And there I am, standing; the white space is just in front of me, all for me, all from me. I take the brush, I dip it into the colours and on the way to the clean and pure wood, as if a projector, my eyes draw the first lines of what at the end would be my painting.
That is, it isn’t white anymore; the white space has begun to colour. This rectangle is my life metaphor and mainly from the moment. (When I paint, when I create something, there is always an expiring date, ephemerality is part of the work, or in other words, the message changes with the passing of time).
It has already been the beginning of an intense and private conversation between the wood, the material and myself – Symbolic conversation in a language that just the speakers understand, where a lie is impossible and where the words are colour movements turning into colour shapes.
I move myself away, I move myself closer, I change the colour, I drop the brush, I paint with my fingers – the paint is watery, I let it free, it creates forms by itself and then I take part with my hands, my body, moving the wood, I listen and then I speak, I observe and then I act.
The conversation flows, there is harmony, but there, in a place where the control escapes, if it is true that once there was control, where spontaneity is the rule, stains shows up, stains that break the conversation as non-invited speakers but not with a smaller message to give, noise.
Then, I go there, ready to change the mistake into a good move, to integrate it between the shapes. I look for the right colours, the perfect amounts, and pum! This annoying stain, those noisy voices are now a welcome part of the painting (Doesn’t life work like that? Is the problem gone?)
The paint, apart from on the painting, on the wood, is on my clothes, on my hands, on the conversation, there is a fusion (are we all part of the same? Are we all one?) The conversation goes on, the shapes take a place and the shine from the fresh paint starts to turn off. Uh! Once again, the harmony is interrupted, the noise is back and the stains are back. This time it is more difficult to control or integrate them, I try, but there are still some pieces. Pieces that just myself can see, the spectator can’t feel those private and concrete details in such an abstract language.
I stop painting, I go away, I come back after a while, I stand in front of it, there is something that doesn’t work, the noise has broken the harmony, is not big, but it is powerful, (how could I finish with it? Why does it insist on staying there?) Is not a question of technique, space or material. At this point it is better to let it be than taking the risk. (Confront? Is better to live a little bit afraid than to stand a painful moment that brings the calm?)
On my way, pretending not to look at the noise, just trying to transform it in harmony, it doesn’t need to disappear; just take part of the talk. I can’t do it, my method doesn’t work, my solutions don’t work, the noise is back; it shows up time and time again.
Even if I don’t want to admit, it is I the one that brings and creates the noise. I lose my breath trying to shut it up, just because I don’t want to see the real way to silence it. Then time decides to join us in the conversation, now it is stronger, it brings peace to the talk, it takes me away from there, it cleans my hands, my eyes, it readies myself to look at it again, to act again.
There I am, standing, with the wood in front of me, all for me, all from me. I take the brush; I dip it into the colours and on the way to the non-clean and non-pure wood, as if a projector, my eyes guide my arms, my hands to bring back the harmony again.
Art is a human activity consisting in this,%u2028 that one man consciously,
by means of external signs, %u2028hands on to others feelings he has lived through,%u2028
and the others are infected by these feelings and%u2028 also experience them.%u2028