The canvas is spotless before me over, stuck on the stand, the image you want to paint . What started as a hobby is gradually becoming true fans. A while now I look at the pictures I see, I try to decipher the technique, I wonder about the mixture of colors, the vanishing points of different planes, the blurred background and the warmth of the spotlight.
I wrong again and again to mix colors. Between what I want and I get half a huge gap that I can not comprehend. What was intended as a warm tone, with life off the time to be applied. The strokes are diverted, the image looks flat, not volume. The green leaves of the branch and and toast are not sufficiently highlighted and multicolor kaleidoscopic background.
not fail. The tarea es apasionante. El profesor pasa y a veces, un consejo, una ligera corrección de su mano supone un avance de horas. Me concentro en los colores, en las pinceladas y voy perdiendo la noción del tiempo. Acaricio una y otra vez la tela porque quiero que surja, esa imagen que a fuerza de mirarla como modelo ha quedado grabada en la retina y llevo conmigo incluso cuando no estoy pintando.
Sin embargo, sigue siendo copia de una copia. No he logrado transformar lo que he visto en una emoción que otros puedan percibir. Esa es, me parce a mí la diferencia entre el copista aplicado y el artista. El primero reproduce, el segundo transmite alma, al mirar su obra atisbamos algún retazo de emoción. El cuadro deja de ser impersonal y se becomes witness. I will not be a painter until it is able to pour my soul into what I paint, I feel like a writer until without realizing it, let me shreds of what I write.
few days ago, I read in a book that painting is not explained: it is understood. Surely, faced with the box, any box, we experience an emotion. It may be bliss, of admiration, contemplation or rejection and this emotion above any hint of understanding. Not always understand the work of abstract art, but when I look, react immediately. I may like but do not understand. If not the first time I see it, if I'm familiar with the author, if I read something about the technique or style to which it belongs, if in particular, someone who knows me well, I do notice the artist's intention and the means used to achieve undoubtedly increase exponentially the likelihood that the work I like.
Anyway, whatever the reaction of the observer, once completed, the picture becomes independent of its author. The message is freed even from the original intention of the painter. Its meaning is multiplied by the number of observers. In figurative painting, the differences are nuances, in the abstract can become diametrically opposed. But there is no single reality. There is an image that provokes in me a reaction and if I try to explain it, an interpretation that is exclusively mine, because that is how I perceive the role of emotions in me has led.
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