Photography, print on hardboard 50x70. 1994
Reproduction 1/5Â
It is at the end that the origin is discovered. Before it is only colour. Human, artificial colour: stains, dripping drops of paint superimposed and mixed, with a randomness that could shatter the certainties (?) of making art. Because if there is art here, it is unconscious. Born without consciousness, through extemporaneous superimpositions, neglect and disorder, with the added value of time that incorporates and assimilates, dilutes and fixes everything. An industrial art, made by work, by mistakes, by artistic incompetence. Therefore more genuine: it is self-made, this art just has to wait for someone to notice it.
Informal" series precisely because form is absent here.
Pollock hides in warehouses, in building sites.
Catalogue "The Interiority of Objects