Peter Greenaway says that we have been taught to read a text, but not to read an image. I share this assumption, since it somehow speaks of our origins, of the innate virtues of a rational vocation destined to laud the value of certainties, that collection of gestures that are translated into the systematic, tedious and painstaking eagerness to preclude chance, uncertainty. But also refers to our limitations and the challenge of interspersing aspects inherent in our sensitive nature in with the paradigmatic regularity of the norm. Therefore, as suggested by Sontag or Barthes, reading an image would be going against interpretation and admitting the possibility of another code, perhaps more fleeting, but nonetheless intelligible and eloquent.
Thus, Eloísa Ibarra’s paintings, invite us from their stern serenity, to participate in an exchange that awakens stimuli and epiphanic resonances, a chance to stop and listen and to feel the whispering of a secret suspended in a mythical silence, that at times emerges and at times it hides, like slow pulses that can be felt through a smooth foam, a warm aura. Such is the enchantment of this poetic tension that resists being unveiled, because the ontology of its mystery rests perhaps in the imminent possibility of catching sight of it in the rough edges of the world’s prose.
I always return to painting, there is an irresistible attraction towards the canvas and the pigments. I commune with the idea of achieving a state of intimacy, a subtle connection between the work and the viewer My ultimate goal would be that through its contemplation, the viewer may achieve a state like the one I reach while I paint, a state of natural meditation that brings me to a non-place, without space or time.
Eloísa Ibarra