C’est dire que l’artiste se bat moins contre le chaos que contre le « clichés » de l’opinion (…)
[mais] Le art lutte effectivement avec le chaos,
mais pour y faire surgir une vision
qui l’illumine un instant, une Sensation.

“Deleuze e Guattari – Qu’est ce-que c’est la Pilosophie?”

At the beginning everything will be new and the hand will outline a dance in a space that opens itself on fire in front of her, all around her. It’s already the rhythm of an active life, joyous, plentiful life, overlapping plans and places, multiplying intersections as if everything and even more than everything could fit into a canvas where we dive to loose ourselves and find ourselves…possibly or not really. Everything is worth while when the soul is so rich that it doesn’t know how to be small. It’s an inebriating sight then when the stroke quickly becomes the line and the blotch turns into colour and all is still to be done more than to be said. Words are said but yet and still there is no individual, there is no person. The place is an accelerated movement across a background of colour that almost forgets itself. And it is alive as it is said of the sea, a living force that actively opens the horizons for us.

The intensity of the place could then let itself become the proliferating rhythm of the one that happily runs between the city and the ocean.

But the restless look is already seeing that space accumulating layer upon layer, arranging itself into connections, spreading itself to the borders. The colour gets thicker, the line more present, the place more molecular than atomic. Another voyage is beginning across the plan, over the white and over the black, under new players in excited dialogue where everything stays alive, never figurative. There is a new calmness, a new ponderation where all is discovered under a new time. We will not say it is the other pole of time. Only this: another time, another space. Another wisdom in the eye, a new calmness in the hand. The stroke is there but above all it acts to emphasize the line. The blotch is still there to be noticed but it is the colour that defines the place more clearly, that scatters the figures over the background: the colour is the figures and it is also the background.

Time clearly is not equal. It never repeats itself. That’s one of the big features of the time: never to be equal to itself and yet it brings something that remains the same as long as there is something that changes. In both worlds the dialog between the hand and the eye brings into life the same quality of that open space, before or after every word, every recognition, every and any certainty other than its own truth, its own authenticity, of the world that is still there for you to open, for you to make, for you to live. All this energetic affirmation of the heart beat contracting and expanding in a repetition that makes its difference always and for ever.


There and then we see time wanting to be the synthesis of itself, always taking risks and taking paths never trailed before as if still and always necessary to think again, to do again, to experiment life and never just slowly die. Intimate thoughts are revealed about the subject that had been so far kept away. Not just like the fall on a core and the fall on an illusion of personal stories to be told, something private to be brought naked into public eye.

It is still the vigorous sensation and not the humming of aestheticized opinions about women and men. It’s the irruption of sexed symbols, red and blue symbols in an environment as much molecular as physical. They are only a new plan where there are also molecules playing as atoms. You think. There is the man and there is the woman. They exist in an environment and because of the environment. They mate like the colour rings mated before. The hips move and the backs move and the movements were already there in the traces of the orbits. It’s the space that wins in new dimensions and not by giving privileges or precedence to the figurative. It’s the exploration that goes forward, it always demands to go forward, never settling on the territories, never repeating crops, never accommodating in the conquest of sediments. The hand and the eye are always there renewing the dialog.

And now everything progresses once again across new lands, new worlds, new gestures, new boundaries. Nothing here stays behind ruled frontiers. Now, gentlemen, here comes the plasticine. Gentlemen, it’s time for the photography. It’s the mobile moulded video. It is the hand, and it is the eye and it is all in intense interaction. Because to stop is stop doing, is stop seeing, is stop feeling what is to come ahead. That’s what life is: to knead the colour with the line. To see the blotches and the traces that even the water can achieve. Because the hand sees, the eye acts, because the figure doesn’t need to tell anything, it needs to be the shaping of the space inhabited like a shadow without relation to anything, or with relation with everything, as it pleases the more or less fabling eye, because the colour is something that we shape as we shape bread and the line is something that we unwind in the playgrounds of our childhood.

Ah! Because the Sensation of living, knowing and doing, when pregnant with sense and value, will always be this intense interacting that is wanted bigger and bigger, wider and wider, because it is so short!

Rui Mascarenhas, Miramar 2011