Mercedes Lara – who possesses an unusual mix of honesty and talent (two qualities not usually found together) – has arrived in India.
She doesn’t want to be photographed next to the Taj Mahal, or in the primordial waters of Benares, or even standing next to a saintly statue; she doesn’t want to buy jewels, or cashmere shawls or swim in five star hotel pools while, meters away, in the street, millions of beggars are haunted by hunger and gods with elephant faces. No, Mercedes searches in those very streets, in the paprika and half burnt petrol smelling earth, for color. The first color, the color that was born before all other colors were born, the color which doesn’t need light to be seen.
And yes, what a absolute sensation it is to see these paintings, where the red is the red of prehistoric blood, the blue is the blue of the sea before Yahweh created it, and the yellow is the soft and chimerical yellow of the dawn of the first day of creation!
Colors! Not the colors of the rainbow, or those of paintings in museums, but the colors of the spirits that whisper in our ear, that carry us to unimaginable places and bring us freedom and laughter. Colors!…which give form to the shapeless, music to the deaf and movement to stillness… Colors which Mercedes, lost girl who was found in the Temple of Pictorial Art, exhausted and just born, knows how to find. Colors that are signs of another world, the true world.
World, universe, that we hide, we negate, running away from the prisons of the self that Aldous Huxley discovered.
Let those paintings – microcosms which are macrocosms – take us beyond, even, the supreme aesthetic pleasure.