KUBAPARIS Launch 01 @Voo Store Berlin
An image I see around a reflection, the light, and the act of making. On a provincial road, in the afternoon sun, an artisan of mates embossesfigures on aluminum with a chisel. His eyes are narrowed by the sun's reflection, he looks at his shadow, and, on his silhouette, steam escapes. The beads of sweat running down his eyelids make him blink, and in flashes projected on the gray pavement, the movement he exerts with controlled and minuscule force on the chisel makes the reflections of his figures play with the shadows. The beam they reflect crosses the flat horizon, shining like precious stones on sand, it is found by distant observers, like points of light on the horizon. Sunlight on a coin. In Santiago Licata's phenomenology, light appears as a soul entity that takes control over the object it reflects and makes it flash, vaporize and lose its density. This light animates.It goes from figuration to pure matter, and from matter to phenomenon. A conversion of beam into image/image into beam that is assembled until it generates a nebula full of nuance, subtlety, and brightness. This makes this light behave in its own way and so it gains a body, an entity, eyes, and features. These resulting and sunstroke faces guide us to look for them among the works, among distances and spaces of silence that unfold from the two-dimensionality to the sculpture. In the enormous fingers of the sun, the soul light enters in its widest dimension, where representation, figuration, phenomenon, and matter name their motif in detail. There, the body of light finds its full shape, turning itself into a symbol. On the other hand, elusive, on the backs of the pigeons, these faces, once light, appear gentle, opening in a tale of metamorphosis which starts from the simple phenomenon of a flash. It manifests itself in its behavior, as escaping or chasing a point: the animist movement of its hidden phenomenon. A coin has its hidden slogan in the representation of its fantastic story of reversible matters, cutouts of a hidden place in the images, fragments of a flashing fiction, images I conceive fall slowly and constantly on a cliffy and subtly rough surface that is eroding in cadence and allowing one to read the elemental aspects of its figuration. An image that I think around a coin. The extension of the arid horizon has left me skewed, sleepy, thirsty, and exhausted. I sit on the curb of a sidewalk, the steam from the pavement hisses and the soles of my feet feel hot. The brightness of the prevents me fromseeingsome colors, I see no reds or yellows, everything seems to be white and a little bluish. My dry and earthy fingers contrast with my wet forehead, I wipe the beads of sweat from my nose and on my hand a black line of dirt is drawn as it turns to mud as it falls. My shadow worries, I offer it the mud of my hands, its warm body of concrete welcomes me and leads us into the darkness.