HABADNA-PAINTING

1 02 2010

PATRIA AND PALETTE

Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo

…it’s not about you, my infinite friend RP…

For lack of bread, paint.

Jorge Perugorria Paints.  Patricio de la Guardia Paints.  Robertico Robaina Paints. Luis Posada Carriles Paints.  I Paint.

We all paint. To kill time.  As chromatic therapy.  To ease the country.

Oil versus horror.  Acrylic against the smooth texture of reality.

With brushes or with feet.  With olive oil or watery turpentine.  With the fluids from our posthumous bodies.  Painters for the Cubanism.

We paint, of course, landscapes.  Stylish women. Abstract forms once in a while.  Concepts learned from a materialist manual from jail or the university.

We paint in abundance.  Everything is paintable.  Everything is exquisitely expressed inside the cheap inches of a frame.

Art history has democratized itself at a personal level.

We have what could be called an artistic design.  Or plastic propulsion.  Or at least a certain pathetic sensibility.

We make movies or politics.  We act or attack.  In mysteries or ministries.  But what unites us is a hasty watercolor from our creator.  Cuba is plasticity. We are art among the arts, inclusive of the artsy.

To give a slap.  To glide a naive brush or a kitsch carbon.  To reflect that question of schools that resemble reality.

We paint by instinct or inspiration.  By rubbish or revenge.  By marketing or misery. To cover a curriculum a little less cunning than professional.  We paint, I fear the worst, for pure love of the viewer.

We paint so that the world can penetrate our casual Cuban soul.

Thus in the Louvre as in MoMA as in the gallery of Cacocún cocks. We paint our tempuras to drums.

Perugorría, de la Guardia, Robaina, Posada Carriles, y now to top it off, me too.

Until we confuse our hands with an excess of imagination.  Until something happens, perhaps the miracle of patron who brands us messiahs rather than mercenaries.  Until the country consumes the last drops of its biblical disappointment or chronic revolutionary scarcity of color.

It doesn’t matter.  We paint enthusiastically in peace.

Please, permit me the pleasure and privilege of promoting here today a scanned copy of my prominent premiere.

Thank you.  And in all the excitement of paint-paint.  I have the impression that this constitutes a very promising audience.

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