Under the guise of a light quality unambiguous, neither hot nor cold, without shadows, without a trace, neutral as if something could actually be a very little volatile, it mounts a stage for performances.
A horizontal shear organizes actually enslaves the eyes do not give them another chance than tearing the plane from one end to another. Eye-blade. Cut incision, butcher. Glance dry, abrupt, without compromise. Memory eye wading in Concrete compositions.
This gap by 90 degrees, barely disguised in the platitude of the two-dimensional surface, the many formal and chromatic vertigo ironically shallow and instant readings of sociological basis, act surreptitiously in order to obliterate the silly lack of immediate senses. What good that this rationality as schematic, this Cartesian daily agenda? Stop, look, you see, eat, walk forward, forget it. Circuit robot against which the internal homogeneous plots cunningly devised a kidnapping.
Here, in the interstices of the differences between apparently equal, lies much of the metaphysics that surrounds us, forms us and misleads us in walking toward erratic do not know what. Stalking is, the friction between naughty and sensual lines, textures, and unexpected loads chromatic content, the intrigues of transcendence, this infinite quality that an object must exceed the boundaries of their own class.
But behold, the actors appear. Trees and men without trees and without men.From this absolute rest is all horizontal connote clear signs of mortality. Once there, beyond the pain that precipitates this ex-tree and (un) humanoid identity of this volume that is hidden under a shroud, bifurcate senses, lie between the perennial question being, have been and become.
On the sidewalks of homogeny is flagram gaps of life, generous portions of ancestry should we just casually notice, but is now upon us like rain poured hot chilly afternoon, moments after being unveiled through the eyes of an artist-blade on the binge lucidity. Only questions in light.


Eder Chiodetto