Paintings: details
Tree tree the sky you're kissing
eyes lowered as winter laid you bare,
naked arms caressed by the northern wind.
2009
| Hull:UK | 19 November 2009
words from between | swansong | millennium | barbed wire | hull | cats | hull screen »
Site published in Hull, East Yorkshire, Uk, by artist Pablo Luis González Rueda | Email »
Acrylic/photography
Central 4.11 »
Oils
Homage »
Oils
The Origins of Painting »
Black & white
Without-prejudice »
Colour
View from this Time: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 »
Colour
Grand Tour. Italy 1987: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 »
Colour
Snapshots: Scrolling around Hull »
Out of the mist
words flew
to dwell in my dream,
echoes of a distant spring,
out of copper wires
the past made contemporary,
the dead made alive.
No pain nor regret shaded
the cats’ slumber as they wriggled
out of their one-eyed sleep, unsettled
by my contained calm, barely.
Cracks in time’s abyss,
bitter crimson underneath,
nascent shoots booted, silent cries
on damned dawns, the rut of fear.
Raw words, stark memories,
forgotten voices, inquisitive,
through my skin
another language
they speak
a language of despair,
a language of desire,
un lenguaje de nostalgia,
un lenguaje de olvidadas palabras,
a language of revenge
that I no longer speak.
I paint what I see through the glass. There are many windows in my studio. There are those facing my dreams, desires, obsessions, memories and fears, those poking insolently into my heart and mind, those glimpsing into the stories told by my forebears at dawn, and those opening onto the stupor of the global village, shaped by the media.
There is no God behind these windows, but there are many haunted spectres lurking underneath the innocent faces and sweet smiles, Ghosts that I am hunting with a web of shapes, colours, tonal range and textures on the surface of the canvas and, indeed, on whatever medium I may consider as being appropriate for this purpose.
These works are landscapes of the mind, where representation and abstraction are entwined.
Pablo Luis González, 1998
Comments »
"Because nothing is as surprising as life. Except for writing. Except for writing. Yes, of course, except for writing, the only consolation."
The Black Book / Orhan Pamuk (translated by Maureen Freely)
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