Solitude

"I have such a crowded solitude

so full of nostalgia

and faces of you

of goodbyes from long ago

and welcomed kisses

of first changes

and last carts.

I have such a crowded solitude

that I can organize it

like I would a parade

by colours

by sizes

and promises

by age

by touch and by flavor.

Without a surplus tremor

I embrace your absences

which assist and help me

with my face of you.

I am full of shadows

of nights and desires

of laughter and

of some curse

My guests come visit

they visit me like dreams

with their new resentments

their lack of candor

I hide a broom

behind the door

because I want to be alone

with my face of you.

But my face of you

looks the other way

with its loving eyes

that don't love anymore

like groceries

looking for their hunger

they look and look and

extinguish my journey.

The walls go away

only the night is left

the melancholy goes

there is nothing left.

Now my face of you

closes its yes

and it is such a desolated

solitude".

"Face of you", by Mario Benedetti

First of all, I must apologize for the translation, I know it is not one of my best, but the way the poem is written makes it very hard to translate to English (it really says "face of you", instead of "your face" or something else). This is one of my favorite poems. I finished the painting and later realized (as it often happens to me for some reason) what it was about. Also, Benedetti died on May 17th, 2009, so I think this is my way of remembering him...

About the shadows that inhabit my relfection...

I know, it is a very long title, but really, it's just that.This one is about my need for expression and how the means to satisfy that need have changed over the years. I used to write poetry when I was a teenager, and before that I used to play the piano, and before that...I can't remember. Right now the most satisfying outlet for my creativity and ideas is painting, drawing...even writing this blog.

This piece is about the dichotomy that inhabits inside me, the things you can't know about me just by looking at me, those parts of myself that exist within me in the corners of my heart,the ones that show up in my paintings and that leave me feeling vulnerable and exposed when I discuss them with others.

The Path

"Traveler, your footsteps
make the road and nothing more;
traveler, there is no road
you build it as you walk

As you walk you build the road
and when you turn your head
you see the path you will never
step on gain.

Traveler, there are no roads
only wakes in the sea"

Excerpt of "Traveler there is no road", by Antonio Machado.

This is one of my favorite poems by Mr. Machado, the whole poem is beautiful, but at the same time very sad. It was made into a song many years ago by Joan Manuel Serrat, and it was listening to this song that I started working on this piece. It reminded me of my life 6 years ago, before we moved here; more complicated (and less lonely) times. I like the metaphor of the path and how each one of us makes his/her own, because that's how life is, and the idea that it exists because we are willing to walk on it, until we realize how it ceases to exist once we've traveled on it...who could have said it better?. I did this piece thinking about this particular poem, it is in a way a self portrait or, should I say, auto biographical. As I begin a new period of my life, I look back at my old trail disappearing before my eyes, realizing, at the same time that I can't go home again; the only way to travel is forward.

Waiting for Peace

Well...what can I say? This was going to be a completely different painting, until...I started watching the news one morning before painting. Need I say more? Thousands of people dying in diferent parts of the world, waiting for politicians to sign an agreement, or a cease fire, or for a side to win. Meetings and meetings of international relations committees weighing the political (and of course economical) consequences of their actions...I think of Rwanda, and even worse, Darfur, Georgia, Russia, Iraq, Afghanistan (these are just the most famous conflicts right now)...we read about them in the papers and watch our 10 daily minutes of international news in CNN (before they move on to more pressing matters, like Paris Hilton's fake campain ad or which politician cheated on his wife this time). In the end, all these human beings , living in anguish and fear in a war zone become nothing more than statistics. The soldiers who give their lives are just another number to be manipulated in an election year and the dead civilians, just a number to deny. How often do we think about the suffering of those still alive?.

I don't even know if this painting is what could be considered "good", (I had my doubts about posting it) but I just had to say something. Will it make a difference? to me, it did... will it, for someone else? I don't know. But when I saw the news on CNN that morning...I just had to say something, because even if no one listens, a least I know I raised my voice.

Transition

Appropriately enough, after all this time unable to create anything, I start working again and poof! its all about change and starting new periods in life. All the fear the expectation and the excitement associated with the moment we realize the course of our life is changing.

True, transitions can be very hard (they usually are), and we make it harder on ourselves sometimes by resisting them, but on the other hand, how could we ever evolve and grow as a person without constant change?. Most of the time the only one holding us back is our own fear.

The Survivor

"I return with overwhelming hope
and the ghosts I took with me
and everyone's slums and the friend
that used to be here but is no more

we are all broken but whole
decimated by forgiveness and bad habits
a little more worn and wiser
older and more sincere

I return without duel and it has rained so much
in my absence in my streets in my world
that I get lost in the names and confuse
the rain with tears

I return/ I want to believe I am returning
with my best and worst history
I know this road by heart
but I still feel surprised"

Excerpt from "I want to believe I am returning", by Mario Benedetti

I believe we are all, in our own way, survivors. We all experience loss and despair in different ways (a death in the family, a near death experience, wars, illness...), we all have to confront fears one time or another and although we may come from different backgrounds and the losses and the fears are different, our response is almost the same: we adapt to survive.

This poem is about coming back from exile (Benedetti had to leave his country during the dictatorship in Uruguay), but to me, his words have always given a voice to those who have survived an ordeal (be it exile, death, disease or war) and as a result found themselves changed; not quite unrecognizable but very much unlike the person they used to be.

When I finished this piece, I couldn't help but think of this poem, the image of this being coming back from the unknown, unrecognizable, leaving behind the very thing that changed him and coming back to the world as we know it, not as a different person, but as a different version of himself. What will the road home look like through those new eyes? what does the world feel like on that new skin? how will he use his new voice, unknown to everyone, even himself? what will he see the first time he looks in the mirror? how much of himself did he leave behind? and how much of the experience that changed him is coming back with him?.

Sorrow, or the eyes of a blue dog

'I'll recognize you on the street when I see a woman writing 'Eyes of a blue dog' on the walls. And she, with a sad smile- which was already smile of surrender to the impossible, the unreachable- said: 'Yet you won't remember anything during the day'. And she put her hands back over the lamp, her features darkened by a bitter cold. 'You're the only man who doesn't remember anything of what he's dreamed after he wakes up'.

Excerpt from "Eyes of a Blue Dog", by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

This is another of my favorite pieces. Only after I finished it did I realize what it was really about: My favorite short story, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, "Eyes of a Blue Dog" (Ojos de Perro Azul, in spanish).

The story is bout a couple of soulmates who can only meet in their dreams. They cannot touch, only talk to each other. They can't even remember where they're from. When she awakes, the only thing she remembers is that he tells her she has "the eyes of a blue dog", and as she goes searching for him, she goes repeating on the street, to everyone who will listen: "Eyes of a blue dog". Him, on the other hand, although he loves her, cannot remember what he calls her when he awakes.

It's a beautiful, sad story and I've always been moved by it. For some reason, this piece makes me think about what their good-byes must have been like, right before they awoke.

First Breath

I used two of my favorite subjects for this piece: flowers and the human figure. This image invaded my mind one day, and what started as a simple line drawing took a life of its own, until it pretty much ran wild and started to paint itself on the canvas. It took quite a while to complete (over a month), in part because oil paints take a while to dry, but mostly because it's pretty big (48"X36").

This piece is about overcoming a particular difficult period of life. I like the metaphor of the lotus flower, this tiny little seed uses all the deposits at the bottom of its pool as nourishment and becomes a beautiful flower, shooting up from the bottom of darkness. I believe we can learn a thing or two from this little flower; we need to learn to overcome all the fear, pain and uncertainty we encounter in our paths, use these experiences to learn from them and to allow our spirit to grow, and as we overcome our mistakes take the final step: forgive others and more importantly, ourselves. Let go of everything and take our first breath, without fear or regrets.

This painting has a lot to do with my personal experiences, it's almost a self portrait (although I look nothing like the woman from the painting). It was after finishing this particular piece that I began doing more figurative work. The human body is capable of telling amazing stories with just one gesture and I am fascinated by the opportunity of capturing just a glimpse of that ability.