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L’enfance-miroir
de Claralucia
Trapped.
I’ve been trapped in the maelstrom of Claralucia’s ever
changing eyes;
Claralucia, the intimate space operator.
She coldly dissects an incredibly compact microcosmic day, targeting it
with
her mental scalpel.
But out of the
blandness
she has
stunned, she pans out a gold monochrome glimmer, both hypnotic and
fascinating.
Her
highly intense presence,
chipped out of determined visuals, possesses the eye trapped forever in
her
relentless mirrors
Fundamental colors, spaced, strange and rare.
Planes of color that keep the restless eye moving back and forth in
spite of
itself.
Inquisitive brightness and utterly stripped reality.
Claralucia,
via la
peinture, brings out the terrible aspect of the innumerable forms
of life.
An inner and secret explosion projected as the apparent surface
explored from
outside.
Forms lit from inside.
An infinite search through the visible world.
Space,
magnetized and bound, becomes a trap, a mental
oubliette.
We end up as prisoners of a fabulous abyss because in
Claralucia’s works, loom
the cruel virtues of labyrinths.
The paintings are raw outside; bare and exposed inside.
Mirrors reflecting all the potential possibilities, injected deep in
reality.
The
painted object is infinitesimal and yet the whole
universe revolves around it Claralucia, the distant traveller from Colombia,
settled in the timeless realm of her paintings, has marvelously
captured our
innocent and expecting eyes.
Christian Noorbergen (translation
by Denis Rothmann)
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