Paintings: brush with verb

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

I never felt that a Toulouse-Lautrec work was overloaded, on the contrary: I feel that intentionally leaves open spaces as an invitation to the life he portrays or invents , and the difference is irrelevant to me, since, seeing it, we have already taken a distance. The disposition of bodies in this particular work suggests two main issues to me. The first is that if I acceded to that place, assuming not only the space-time location but also its decadent aesthetic , where the brightness has left room for the opacity that wanders from suit to suit and, why not, between the eyes, in case of making the leap that would make me leave my position of observer-interpreter to position myself as part of the composition , all of in would turn my back on me. We have a dialectic that moves between the desire for that other , perhaps, as Mircea Eliade said, that totally other (the "ganz andere"), and the absolute impossibility of concrete. The artist calls, once again, something that in advance is concerned with making clear its inaccessibility. I am another, at another time, and I am before / between a work that puts me out and incites me to be inside, erotic typical of the desire for a lost unity. The inexhaustible César Vallejo evokes more than once the pain that ensues after realizing that the other moments of time are impossible in the present, in Human Poems we read "You do not respond and you look at me / Through the age of your Trilce "I found a girl / in the street and hugged me. / Equis, a lecturer, who found her and found her / is not going to remember her. / / This girl is my cousin.Today, when I touch / waist, my hands have entered his age / as in pair of poorly plastered sepulchers. "

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Before us is a scene that has already received the last brushstroke, the final thrust that turns it into red hot metal and is thrown at us for revival. As a synthesis of both positions, it may be argued that perhaps the invitation is made, and it does not allow us to walk around with a curse: the work, in its materiality, is finished and abandoned before the time that will inevitably end with pigments, cloth, concepts, but meanwhile, assuming that we can not be in it, the absence as negative of the presence asks us not to repeat the attitude of the attendees of the room, and, from our space-time, we have a more honest and torn apart from that last fact, loneliness, that companion from end to end of the breath.

The empty space once again screams.

  • Adam Floyd