The Piece

The details

The Talk

First, a poem

Simultaneously 
In a world where nothing is born
nothing dies
and everything transforms
I was born
I will die
I will transform, but always remain the same
In a world where everything is in duality
-or is it One? Or The Holy Trinity?
a thought occurred
All is everything but nothing is. Possibly. Maybe
it confuses the mind
satiates the confused
Simultaneously 
Here, the mad get madder and the blind get vision
why does it have to be so complicated yet so simple

Second, really now, what about this piece?

This painting was one of the first, if not the first, conceptual art piece I’ve even made. And naturally, without trying, it includes a lot of the symbolism that would continue to inspire me in the years to come.

I don’t like to overexplain myself, so I’ll keep it at a minimum. If ever we get the chance to come together and discuss it, it’d be overjoyed to do so. However, to me, conceptual or abstract art has the biggest advantage of not obliging the eyes to see, well, anything. Or better said, nothing in particular. And so the mind gets to decide if and how it wants to imagine its response. Nothing is forced, it’s just a gentle suggestion to one’s subconscious saying: “Hey, do you see something here?”. I understand how sometimes that can be frustrating as recognising patterns is maybe the best skill our brain has. And challenging that can lead to a sense of bewilderment or, in the best case scenario, plain old boredom.

Funny how sometimes there’s a wilful collaboration between consciousness and subconsciousness. Like when one decides to go to a contemporary art museum, encounter more ‘radical’ pieces -the ones taking the biggest leap from reality- and then asks themselves that question. “What in the world am I supposed to see and feel here?”. You know… Otherwise the trip and the money would’ve been a waste, I hàve to get something out of this. That feeling.
Honestly that feeling is a drain on energy, it’s exhausting. So why do we do it? Sometimes I think I’d like to stop doing that. It feels forceful. Either I feel it or I don’t. Either it’s the moment for it, or it’s not. F*ck the money, nothing is ever a waste.
And that’s a valid response.

But other times I wonder. What if this is the only way I can teach my lazy brain to just… recognise more patterns? Growing and evolving is exhausting. I once read that before the caterpillar transforms into a butterfly its whole body firstly becomes a chemical soup. And maybe that’s exactly what needs to happen to my brain every so often. To turn into soup.