Artist Ulises Mazzucca expresses what could be seen as intimate constellations of a generation that is trying to recover the bond of what each one considers their own –differing of that belonging to others– and is willing to share, or at least leave in plain sight to create a collective story.
At first glance, one could read these works as a travel book of romantic lyricism, picturesque, and we could even stay on a surface that recognises the sensitivity or temperature of a tame author. Nevertheless, in each of these manifestations, the author transgresses the formality of the act and floods us with emotion, with what strongly crosses his soul, with his own self-construction.
The skin is his territory. Blood flows through paths full of fervent stories, of marks so private as the ones only you know about yourself
The lights and shadows tell us of the temperature of the place, of the characters’ moods, of their wetness and smells. In their tired faces, the passage of smoke and sweat of who predates on desire inducts us into the edge of a slumber that, when ended, becomes art.
The angst of being alone under a bed, or on a chair watching time go by in pyjamas, reminds of the deep heat of a night of shortages in which even the cicadas seem to die of thirst.
There are no love stories in these pieces, only underwear torn by the sweat of those who walk in the same place, in the same home with shut windows that knows not of exteriors, nor walks in the sun nor green squares. The warmth of the nap, the creak of the floor, the silent street, the basic games, the encounter with oneself in horizontal position, the unexpected, and the heartbeat are the rhythm of a simple story that strongly knocks the door to invite us into the sensitivity of this young artist.
In his exhibition, titled En su rodilla un polvo cobrizo [On Their Knee a Coppery Dust], we will experience the certainty of knowing about ourselves the limits of desire, and the strength as a consequence of the endings.
How long is it since you haven’t thought of an ending underneath your bed?
Carlos Herrera, curator