Hombres-Pino
Solo show by Abel García
Hombres-Pino
Solo show by Abel García
13 January - 18 February 2022
credits
Guillermo Martín Bermejo
Elena Feduchi
“In the vast thickets of our dreams we invoke all things that swim or crawl or fly, the most subtle and imperceptible agitations, all that is half heard, all half-articulated whispers. To all that is leafy and distant! We invoke the hooves of sleep through that barren and lonely immensity of the night: Come back! And they return: the Dream horses gallop, gallop on the earth. "
Thomas Wolfe
The sense of wonder in Abel García's painting
Marine biologist Rachel Carson tells, in her exquisite and necessary book The Sense of Wonder, how while still almost a baby she took her nephew Roger wrapped in a blanket at night to see a storm near the sea. Together, they felt the excitement and "acceptance of nature, without being afraid of the song of the wind or the darkness or the roaring waves." Childhood is the ground where to plant the seed of wonder. Once emotions have arisen, they will always have lasting meaning. And from these primary emotions arises the transcendental expression of the place of myth. This precedes the expression that is given, it is the uniqueness of the place. The mythical place is not the singular, but its universal name. Thus, a field, a mountain or a road become The Field, The Mountain and The Road. And in these promises, the place is.
And we went for a walk, because to walk is to be. It is to look for that place. Abel knows this very well, and in his painting, he has given us back the capacity for astonishment. That sense that we had numbed and blinded by the reflectors of the so-called modernity, the one that doesn't let us see the fireflies.
Like a Whitman or a Wolfe, Abel Garcia (Seville, 1996) has left home behind and composed his New World Symphony. Like the settlers in their wagons, they have launched themselves down the winding paths of adventure, fleeing into the forest, finding that promised land where the pines are men who greet you with the wind, where you have to build your refuge with the own hands. And we become lumberjacks, cowboys, farmers. But without forgetting the porcelain, the delicate cages and the metal chairs that the crazy and wonderful mother did not want to leave in the East and she painted in blue. And we see red engineerings passing over our toy train. Red ladder to reach the highest branches of the fir trees. Red the single flower that grew on our new path. The woodcutter is part of the forest and we don't really know who cuts and who is cut. And the water, azure blue water everywhere. Water that wets our tired eyes and gives us back all the incredible range of colours that Abel has found in these paintings. What delicate and powerful magic it offers us! Pure painting from the moss, the grass, the flowers, the sky. Pure poetry, pure wonder. The childlike pulsation of the magical feeling of life.
Yes, Abel has found the place of the myth. The universal place of the road, of the mountain, of the man-tree. He has returned the fireflies to us. Seeing his painting I feel like that boy Roger amazed for the first time during a storm at the sea. Abel finally shakes our hearts and excited we see; we see everything as if it were for the first time.
Thomas Wolfe
The sense of wonder in Abel García's painting
Marine biologist Rachel Carson tells, in her exquisite and necessary book The Sense of Wonder, how while still almost a baby she took her nephew Roger wrapped in a blanket at night to see a storm near the sea. Together, they felt the excitement and "acceptance of nature, without being afraid of the song of the wind or the darkness or the roaring waves." Childhood is the ground where to plant the seed of wonder. Once emotions have arisen, they will always have lasting meaning. And from these primary emotions arises the transcendental expression of the place of myth. This precedes the expression that is given, it is the uniqueness of the place. The mythical place is not the singular, but its universal name. Thus, a field, a mountain or a road become The Field, The Mountain and The Road. And in these promises, the place is.
And we went for a walk, because to walk is to be. It is to look for that place. Abel knows this very well, and in his painting, he has given us back the capacity for astonishment. That sense that we had numbed and blinded by the reflectors of the so-called modernity, the one that doesn't let us see the fireflies.
Like a Whitman or a Wolfe, Abel Garcia (Seville, 1996) has left home behind and composed his New World Symphony. Like the settlers in their wagons, they have launched themselves down the winding paths of adventure, fleeing into the forest, finding that promised land where the pines are men who greet you with the wind, where you have to build your refuge with the own hands. And we become lumberjacks, cowboys, farmers. But without forgetting the porcelain, the delicate cages and the metal chairs that the crazy and wonderful mother did not want to leave in the East and she painted in blue. And we see red engineerings passing over our toy train. Red ladder to reach the highest branches of the fir trees. Red the single flower that grew on our new path. The woodcutter is part of the forest and we don't really know who cuts and who is cut. And the water, azure blue water everywhere. Water that wets our tired eyes and gives us back all the incredible range of colours that Abel has found in these paintings. What delicate and powerful magic it offers us! Pure painting from the moss, the grass, the flowers, the sky. Pure poetry, pure wonder. The childlike pulsation of the magical feeling of life.
Yes, Abel has found the place of the myth. The universal place of the road, of the mountain, of the man-tree. He has returned the fireflies to us. Seeing his painting I feel like that boy Roger amazed for the first time during a storm at the sea. Abel finally shakes our hearts and excited we see; we see everything as if it were for the first time.
