"The garden of butterflys". Painting

Antonia Ajo es mi pseudonimo.Adoro intervenir en pinturas antiguas que adquiero en mercadillos de antigüedades,dándoles así un nuevo significado y vida.I adore the lightness of some bubbles that float ignorant of the gray reality of the pointed corners. I perceive the closeness of everyday objects inside a house and I represent them My interest is to dignify the humility of a curtain or a poor pot of moles, too From forgotten bars or from a shutter that we leave open. I love the remnants of home, waving from the scene where I place them and from where they welcome the clouds, skies, trees, mountains or seas that they see through windows that I open for them, that I open to mitigate their loneliness of invisible objects. I make them the protagonists of my paintings with the will to weave bridges between the interior and the exterior, between the things that we no longer see because we have seen them until they become evanescent things and things that deserve attention for their established magnificence. I like common things, surprising me by decontextualizing them. It comforts me when the gaze finds rest in the familiar touch of the objects that accompany my daily life. I open windows so that the light illuminates them and renews their meaning. My life is what painting takes away from me and gives me. From a very young age I remember losing the hours and paying attention to details, such as the sun entering through a crack, the raindrops running down the window pane, an embroidery on the sleeve of my dress, the playful shadow that chased me everywhere, the smell of Christmas when opening a box or the lights of the cars that passed by the street projected on the ceiling of my room as a child. These little things and the silences that they create around them, suggest to me the emotions that I later transfer to my work. They are echoes of my memory that insist that I give them a place in the present, claiming to be rescued from my memory and to exist between my gaze and what the brush I paint them. I remember them, I feel them as clearly today as yesterday and now they have an adventure of their own by being part of the memories of other people, inhabiting their houses, beating from the canvas the sleeplessness of their new owners, hanging and In its walls, to be an intrinsic part of its existence. They are no longer only mine ..