Hermana cuervo (Lady cuervo and friends) Painting

The artist vociferates and nobody cares. It looks for a way and it is accommodating to the interests of the spectator; He changes again and again and nobody is interested, but when, at some point, his path coincides with that of the majority, then he will be defeated. This can be expressed in a concrete way: the present spectators are overburdened by a monumental mnesic memorandum that covers with a desperate veil the horizon of intentions and desires. Anyone can make this observation for himself: art suffers from a vertigo similar to that of the history of humanity, which moves us to a vain individual duration and a narrow space, to our small measure. The modern adventures of the vanguards, which were relative, have given way to the diffusion of a present without direction or certainty, disoriented. The capital is the discourse and that this pleases Capital. The arguments and the lies, the opinions should be organized around a previous scheme, aimed at conditioning the actions and ideas of the other. This is the key for a message to be successful. In contemporary art, the text is the basic organizational discourse around which all artistic argumentation is structured. A well-structured writing that simulates a complex coherence is an element of triumph. On the other hand, the work is secondary. An act without ideas is a void in the postmodern world. The fight is against the world and not against the self, which is already convinced. The enemy must be persuaded and all weapons are worth: deception, easy flattery, common spaces, previous ideas, empty dissertations disguised as depth. Everything is worth to be heard. Art is full of apparatus because it participates in a cult, a pageantry where everything is pomp and circumstance. The clients are the practitioners of this new artistic religion who let themselves be guided by the officiants of an empty and impersonal paraphernalia, from which they obtain great returns. One of the primordial tasks of the creator is to endow his work with the necessary transcendence so that it meets the criteria of the modern liturgy of art. Francisco Ceballos presents under the title TWINS a new exhibition montage where he alternates a diffuse drawing subjected to the tyranny of color, generating an interdisciplinary project that experiments with the line and its fluctuations, with the spots that arise randomly that mark the future of the painting. Between them a dialogue of tones is established that fight to be the dominant one, without any of them achieving it in an evident way. The pictorial work of Ceballos combines the tactility of phosphorescent painting with the poetics of words translated into images, thus recreating stagings of fantastic character, but with a marked spiritual accent. A primordial part of the contemplative ritual, common to all artistic representations, is the ascetic silence but the art of Francisco Ceballos is pure noise, since it results from clashing and confronting elements in a complex flight of dissonance, in which constant friction of the plastic elements generate their chromatic thinking. The paintings, in large format on canvas, vibrate in a vacuum over which the gestural outline and the expressive force of an intelligent staging prevails. Francisco understands painting as a compliment to the abyss that dialogues with imaginary architectures, resources for reflection and organic lightness that produce subjugating compositions. In Ceballos' painting colors are notes, volumes and masses are times and silences. Ceballos starts from a complete emptiness, a big black hole, emptiness like nothingness that will then be filled with strokes of color, without knowing its final destination. The canvas for our artist is not so much a virgin surface as a white anguish; rather, it is a congested space that must be clarified among several options by means of exploration. The painter fills in the canvas, finds, retreats and returns to the beginning, in order to find the path that is a false, incomplete and truthful portrait at the same time. This initiatory journey to the inner ghosts themselves is the echo of the artist's own face that is organized around a sample of dissonant portraits, painted in phase change. The pictorial poetics of Ceballos harmonizes the complex simplicity and the lightest rotundity, as if he wanted to merge the opposites, which generates a deep complicity with the viewer, which is another of the virtues inherent in his compositions. This choice is even more difficult because everything is possible, legitimate, valid in the open order of contemporary expressions dedicated to cohabitation, to miscegenation rather than to exclusion, as modern extremists of the clean surface claimed. The art of Frankallos is not narrative because each painting is time stopped, an isolated frame of a vital process in continuous development. His works are superimpositions of frames that are specified in the last frame, where the film stops at its crucial moment. The rest of the film is hidden behind layers of paint. We must consider that the atypical language of the titles of his work is not such. They respond to a process of realization, by which ideas are accumulated based on superimposed layers and between them a dialogue is established, a confrontation from which that name emerges. The picture titled "Deomótica" picks up the idea that the future does not exist. The future is the past, the memory, the experience. Time is a narrative, elements confronted in the struggle to excel. The future is an intention to do, it is the craving based on knowledge. The present does not exist either because when it arrives it has already passed. Only the past is real, it is the memory organized in the form of intention and desire. It is a recreation of children's stories in which narrative is developed in the form of alternate layers that overlap, fusing and hiding. The box called "Pajamental" includes two characters, each one or looks to the opposite side, facing their own existence. They are sad, but they are modern. Your work is a battle against the main enemy, which is oneself. Their commitment is a lie because what counts is pure bias, oblivious to the most immediate reality. A game that hides the unknowns and a new invented inner reality that serves to hide the secrets. It is the complete subjectivity that is born from the broken cry of the empty fabric and is filled with masses of intense color until saturating in a torn and forced way the space of the painting with an aggressive hurtful chromatism that moves from the depths of the soul and brings out the outside all his human greatness. Even today, some still venture to catch vacuum brushes with pencils, photographs or video cameras. If we do not despair to work with ridiculous forms that reveal in their extremes the handful of questions that bother us, it is not very different from those that seemed to motivate the gestures of our ancestors: art only exists to be tested. We must always return to the arena and grab the beast by the horns in the midst of rumors, demanding voices and agitations. Search with action what you are. Maybe that's why Ceballos' painting seems to always tell us his own story. That is why you can not, trying to say anything else, do as if everything always told the conditions of his permanence, his genealogy, the movements that comprise it, the mystery that is its background.

Painting:Acrylic on Canvas

Original:One-of-a-kind Artwork

Size:43.3 W x 47.2 H x 2 D in

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