A journey through the, perhaps forgotten, corners of the soul.
Reading Some Old Letters, 1999.
Oil on wood
146 x 114 cm
The essence of this work is to remember the peacefulness that reflection on what has already passed gives us, from intimacy that is least transferable through a letter. Inspired by the sonnet of the Portuense poet, José Luis Tejada Peluffo (1927 - 1988), to whose memory it is dedicated.
Reading Some Old Letters. (Sonnet)
The heart was here and here…
And here too… and here. What a life of drudgery
Thrown on the edges of this wound
Where another heart sustained me!
I remember up, inside, I enter, I go up,
Reading, through familiar handwriting I go
To a yesterday that I disavowal
Hurting by retracing what has been travelled.
Here, the heartstrings were and graze,
Friendly, grayish fur stirk of blood and lies
Dead on this clover field.
A letter, life, never finished,
Inked, bluish green, disorderly,
That God dates, signs and ends.
José Luis Tejada Peluffo
“Para andar conmigo”. Madrid. Adonais 1962.
Paintings are drawn from the heart, ordered in the head and thence do battle with the sluggishness of the hand, with the lack of skill to materialise them.
Reading Old Letters is the result of an accumulation of nostalgia. Nostalgia for the scent of a Cadiz seaside town awakening my senses: the scent of the sea, barrels and wine impregnating its streets, streets that recall a colonial past.
My thoughts bobble, like the sailboats sheltering in Guadalete on their way towards the sea, with its peculiar and incessant ringing mixed with the quacking of gulls.