Cerros

Cerros -the title of this one- is untranslatable. Is not a hill, it is not a mountain, it is both. Not high enough to keep a cap of perpetual snow yet high enough to look bluish in the distance and take your breath away, either in a hike or just by watching them. A fellow student in the studio asked me where was the model I was copying. Nowhere but in my memory, retina and heart, for under a high altitude sky, those cerros are part of the surrounding NW areas of Mexico City. Could it be Cuauhtitlan, Ecatepec or Palo Alto or some imaginary topography of a very early recalling.

It took time for them to come forward. A geology carved with the palette knife, adding some faint brushwork here and there, light and soothing like a polite word of comfort, to give some depth.

Painting can be done for a number of reasons and one of them is using it as a tool for organizing memories, assessing the present and preparing the future. Hand follows mind, for there are times in life when a sense of absolute control of mind over matter will ask for a precise pen drawing, while uncertain and conflictive times ask for techniques that mimic the actions that allow to survive and thrive. Is not the same the time for a reflecting, patient oil paint to the chaotic hours demanding the bold acrylic impasto.

All starts with a deep breath and a glance within, to mark the latitude and longitude of the here and now. The subject is chosen in the depth of the psyche, even while the mind is tricked to think it is all under her lucid control. The bare mountains emphasize a stand point between the primordial Earth and Sky, the Mother and the Father, the Ying and the Yang. The best place to gather strength when long dead hours are dishing out their bitter best, when a turning point is close, when the road takes an unexpected detour.

At first the smeared canvas looked plain horrible, going nowhere. But with the mind set that if it can be worked out in a 12x9 inch surface, there is hope to do the same in real time-real life, some slashes latter all looked much better. As in life, the extreme remedy of placing a strong contrast usually levels things out. Ultramarine Blue to force the orange and burnt reds to shake their loud flat complacency and perform their best.

Cerros displays an actual texture, not a coloured pre-made gesso, but a rugged surface built over cuts and bruises on a thick coat of paint. Seen from close resembles a mess; regarded from afar, it commands attention. A painting to be felt with the fingers, with the eyes, like actual rocks, like a human soul.

I see the arid topography of Cerros and, as I see myself painting them: if anything looks smoothed out, its a mirage.