Literature

Anyone who encounters the work of Mara Faúndez certainly senses something. A suspicion, intrigue, the suspense of what is approaching and what will come to pass, beyond one's personal wishes or will.

A hairdryer near water, a scorpion crawling up the palm of a hand, the quiet yet piercing movement of a mischievous caterpillar, a distant beast covered in fur. Like the unsettling repetition of a mosquito's buzzing, these are all harbingers of an unfortunate outcome.

The gazes of the female figures depicted in Mara's paintings establish a dialogue between those who observe them and the women themselves, the protagonists of the canvas: innocent of what subtly threatens them. Each scene surrenders to this sequence. A perfect complicity. As though, behind those distant gazes, we might warn them, or tell them that something is about to happen.

The exhibition Crying Over Spilled Milk emerges from the conviction of impending personal misfortune; it also reflects an alternate, imaginary, restless universe. This body of work is the result of a painterly exercise in creating images that reveal certain anxieties about the future — sometimes unreal — or conflicts — nonexistent — yet to come.

Morbid fascination, boredom, a partner's infidelity, the suspicion brought on by the calm of a good love, the apathy and anxiety of time standing still, and the possibility that — perhaps — one is solely responsible for such feelings. There is no one else to blame; it is the bitter and inevitable fantasy of self-sabotage.

Carolina Urzúa W.

November 2026