Pulled from a black sleep by a presentiment, I recompose the place without opening my eyes.
Tired of previous sessions: yellows too green, reds too blue and shades lost forever.
Bogged down in the dirty palette of fragmented thought.
I win the workshop. Eyes watch me from behind climbing the stairs. An uneasiness floats and follows me step by step.
Something has changed.
A veil of dust covered the canvases, the easel and the floor. In the rincones The works of another time look at me, centenary dates have replaced my signature. My paintings already painted by another. I walk in a wake. I reproduce each of the gestures, shapes and nuances executed by another. Anxiety grips me. A truth that I now try to forget. Now nothing will ever be quite the same again. Close your eyelids so that everything goes back to normal. However, it is already too late.
Everything remains to be painted
In the exhibition space, the two silent walls facing each other reveal an expectation.
I enter the space through the exit. It freaked me out the first time. I imagine a painting in front of me and behind my back I feel like a presence.
Reversible waiting is someone else's.
Make up for this expectation by starting over.
The differences end up resembling each other.
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