I forgot your name

I forgot your name A man is laying down. At rest. The surface is one and at the same time divided in different areas. Separated by invisible lines between colours. In the studio the paintings are laying on top of each other, ready to reveal themselves. The exhibition is the moment of selection. At first it’s only a mix of colours. Then a geometry, inherited from history, from hundreds of years of composition, to the elegancy of abstraction. The use of large formats amplifies the physical response. It’s bigger than your eye. It’s a wall in movement. In the meantime a landscape appears. A garden at night. Branches and moons. Maybe a street from a familiar neighbourhood. Some trash down on the floor. Empty beer, empty cigarettes. Still a man laying. Painting as the main character. Dark colours fullfill the background. Brushes all over you. A waterfall of sadness (dripping). A giant hangover in hell. A surrealistic mourning. There are many ways to tell a story. With a silent picture there is no beginning and no end. L’oeil infiltrates everything. It’s a perpetual discovery where time transforms everything. You are losing yourself by absorption. You are laying down too. The gaze is unpredictable. (back and forth between realities) At the end it’s just a moment where affection disappears and leaves a metallic taste in our mouths. References are in every corner. A cinematic filter, falling from the top, creates the horizon. It creates a sky between trees. Again the moon, suspended over the flesh. The paint irradiates. A variation in time and space, alongside the white cube. Hypnotic rectangles floating in raw light. A few steps in and you are hit by a moonstroke. A dead tree is the gate of a second world made out of shades and loneliness.