PRIOR NOTE: What follows below is the text I wrote for the exhibition that the artist Jaime Giménez de Haro (Sagunto, 1951) held in May 2005 in Castell d'Alaquàs. The recovery for this blog after attending a new exhibition of the artist in Valencia, at the Café Malvarrosa-Espai Paral.lel. A joy to which you are all invited.
Dimension
works proposed to us for this exhibition Jaime seek a density such that beyond the form, color, matter, are plotting a buzz of voices that just impose its own dialogic discourse. Dream is not matter, though invited to it, but words that incite crowds to the recreation of work by the viewer, pleasant or bitter dialogue, the indecent exposure of desires, the entrainment of thoughtful invitations to expose us the works. Michel Foucault
raised from his bold thinking, a "Theatrum Philosophicum." From this exposure, and from this reading that we propose, Jaime's work appears to us as a "Theatrum Artis." But not from the spectacle, from the "ob-scenidad", but rather from the dialogic complicity of confidence, the whisper of the word longing and inviting.
His paintings, objects, anchored a passageway between the peaks of classicism and modernity. Air travel stirred visions of previous pictorial worlds, moves the eye to an expansion of space, and from this opening, since this SUGEN hollow echoes which are shaping a dialogical voices writing, drenched in light and pictorial material.
wandering paths are signs from the gift, banks setting dialog: sometimes from a transparency, sometimes from the mystery. There is innocence and no risk. An odd measure of critical distance from the author on his work and tradition. But above all, is a building of its own world, which urges us to share, a foundation that builds strength in private, in the course of the affection, intimate truths.
1 st STAGE:
works proposed to us for this exhibition Jaime seek a density such that beyond the form, color, matter, are plotting a buzz of voices that just impose its own dialogic discourse. Dream is not matter, though invited to it, but words that incite crowds to the recreation of work by the viewer, pleasant or bitter dialogue, the indecent exposure of desires, the entrainment of thoughtful invitations to expose us the works. Michel Foucault
raised from his bold thinking, a "Theatrum Philosophicum." From this exposure, and from this reading that we propose, Jaime's work appears to us as a "Theatrum Artis." But not from the spectacle, from the "ob-scenidad", but rather from the dialogic complicity of confidence, the whisper of the word longing and inviting.
His paintings, objects, anchored a passageway between the peaks of classicism and modernity. Air travel stirred visions of previous pictorial worlds, moves the eye to an expansion of space, and from this opening, since this SUGEN hollow echoes which are shaping a dialogical voices writing, drenched in light and pictorial material.
wandering paths are signs from the gift, banks setting dialog: sometimes from a transparency, sometimes from the mystery. There is innocence and no risk. An odd measure of critical distance from the author on his work and tradition. But above all, is a building of its own world, which urges us to share, a foundation that builds strength in private, in the course of the affection, intimate truths.
1 st STAGE:
GESTOS entelechy
"... and no letters in the air is very clear lines" Bances Candamo
Francisco, Theater of the theater.
A world short of earrings, braids as trilobites, looks facing the modest vision, without the furtive desire for false ownership, merely exposed to the caress of a lullaby. Invited to the banquet of dance of women's bodies to another round of sense to the senses returned to the pregnancy of the painting and its meandering line. Rómpese
fabric of the meeting, a clear invitation to life, only touch or hug near these fragments, which together tend to make an appointment at a crossroads where the very moment it becomes a gesture Etemad, the kairos which tended Goethe , which invites us Jaime, hand gesturing life. Increases the glass of time.
HANDS: The gesture is eloquent beyond voice, handwriting all, live in the pure music of the movement, in the living space, humane figure.
ARMS: You are online hymn, "Oh gifted sore! O soft hand, as did Juan de Yepes will trace.
FACE: you seem to me, arms, beauty ansiante, swirling cry, drunk with stupidity. From the dream of the line magnetized and highlights the clear color, the gesture shows his tempered character, full of serenity, órdago of beauty.
THE BODY: Bankruptcy body and arms effort has been said. Gravity and lightness together in intimate yoke as members clinging to me, represent. It is the hand of your painter, or his soul, which is the same, blowing on your breath. So Carducho certified "Move your paint the souls of those who hear him."
The look is stopped but the gesture does not stop, and in that interval, in that "dark pause" spoken of Rilke, the seed sprouts abbreviated Jaime world exposes us, recalling the "puellae gaditanae" Juvenal, those feet that measure the world look like from their contortions, artistically sentencing which left the Pliny: "To believe that there are infinite worlds came from wanting to measure the world in feet." And no place, no purpose in this world short or these infinite worlds that leads us to the Jaime Giménez boxes of
Haro, while the fabric torn down recomposed and supreme figure in a final gesture.
2 nd SCENE:
"... and no letters in the air is very clear lines" Bances Candamo
Francisco, Theater of the theater.
A world short of earrings, braids as trilobites, looks facing the modest vision, without the furtive desire for false ownership, merely exposed to the caress of a lullaby. Invited to the banquet of dance of women's bodies to another round of sense to the senses returned to the pregnancy of the painting and its meandering line. Rómpese
fabric of the meeting, a clear invitation to life, only touch or hug near these fragments, which together tend to make an appointment at a crossroads where the very moment it becomes a gesture Etemad, the kairos which tended Goethe , which invites us Jaime, hand gesturing life. Increases the glass of time.
HANDS: The gesture is eloquent beyond voice, handwriting all, live in the pure music of the movement, in the living space, humane figure.
ARMS: You are online hymn, "Oh gifted sore! O soft hand, as did Juan de Yepes will trace.
FACE: you seem to me, arms, beauty ansiante, swirling cry, drunk with stupidity. From the dream of the line magnetized and highlights the clear color, the gesture shows his tempered character, full of serenity, órdago of beauty.
THE BODY: Bankruptcy body and arms effort has been said. Gravity and lightness together in intimate yoke as members clinging to me, represent. It is the hand of your painter, or his soul, which is the same, blowing on your breath. So Carducho certified "Move your paint the souls of those who hear him."
The look is stopped but the gesture does not stop, and in that interval, in that "dark pause" spoken of Rilke, the seed sprouts abbreviated Jaime world exposes us, recalling the "puellae gaditanae" Juvenal, those feet that measure the world look like from their contortions, artistically sentencing which left the Pliny: "To believe that there are infinite worlds came from wanting to measure the world in feet." And no place, no purpose in this world short or these infinite worlds that leads us to the Jaime Giménez boxes of
Haro, while the fabric torn down recomposed and supreme figure in a final gesture.
2 nd SCENE:
STATEMENT TO THE LIGHT A CANDLE
The painter and the model clear its sheen in the light reflected from the sail of a study, while the bodies are confused and in a single stroke wishes to make a resounding laude life, a source of deep pride festival.
THE MODEL: right hand is your hand in my fugure award in praise of lust Blessed, a mythical cloak of subtle transparency.
THE ARTIST: Remove the limit is what you crave, or at least bring the two realities that we both make up, stretching my voice an echo box unique. The finite and the infinite, the whole and the fragment. We seek the fuzzy, promising corners of the meetings, the colors that catch a caress, hug the lines of, caught in a confusion of bodies impossible, beyond this box, this world, this wall.
THE MODEL: The limit is only hope. Brush that will not reach your desired space, that flame extinction hidden in saves. Rearward is the day that your hands and your feet can reach it and your life and your desire are only one and indivisible.
THE ARTIST: I gain nothing future realities. Today here irredeemable proclaim the identity of my life, and I wish paragon of a universe in ways that involve, as transparent robes, those spaces that the figures submitted to a perpetual flow of greetings and goodbyes.
THE MODEL: I feel the soft blue and the exaltation of ocher, the tremor of the muteness of yellow and gray. I blinding red and green warm clarity. Rauda is light and lose myself in the sense of your visions.
THE ARTIST: I'm going too Lost in the fog of this awful desire. Feature with my colors in daylight most pristine looking for a light, seeking light beyond the light. And this wandering, this wandering, you, my model, I impose the gift of beauty understood as a light in his drunkenness, soul Panida that celebrates life.
The painter and the model clear its sheen in the light reflected from the sail of a study, while the bodies are confused and in a single stroke wishes to make a resounding laude life, a source of deep pride festival.
THE MODEL: right hand is your hand in my fugure award in praise of lust Blessed, a mythical cloak of subtle transparency.
THE ARTIST: Remove the limit is what you crave, or at least bring the two realities that we both make up, stretching my voice an echo box unique. The finite and the infinite, the whole and the fragment. We seek the fuzzy, promising corners of the meetings, the colors that catch a caress, hug the lines of, caught in a confusion of bodies impossible, beyond this box, this world, this wall.
THE MODEL: The limit is only hope. Brush that will not reach your desired space, that flame extinction hidden in saves. Rearward is the day that your hands and your feet can reach it and your life and your desire are only one and indivisible.
THE ARTIST: I gain nothing future realities. Today here irredeemable proclaim the identity of my life, and I wish paragon of a universe in ways that involve, as transparent robes, those spaces that the figures submitted to a perpetual flow of greetings and goodbyes.
THE MODEL: I feel the soft blue and the exaltation of ocher, the tremor of the muteness of yellow and gray. I blinding red and green warm clarity. Rauda is light and lose myself in the sense of your visions.
THE ARTIST: I'm going too Lost in the fog of this awful desire. Feature with my colors in daylight most pristine looking for a light, seeking light beyond the light. And this wandering, this wandering, you, my model, I impose the gift of beauty understood as a light in his drunkenness, soul Panida that celebrates life.
the wick in the room sadly Heloros consumed and a fine, barely, blue flame, turns to his squalid
candle. The breath of the artist, finally, fatally obscures the fabric of the game and a revived light shines in his work.
candle. The breath of the artist, finally, fatally obscures the fabric of the game and a revived light shines in his work.
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