Elisabeth Eisbein und Steffen Tiegel VOID
Elisabeth Eisbein / Steffen Tiegel

Antonio Romoleroux I love myself
Antonio Romoleroux


Katja Enders Mit leichtem Gepäck
Katja Enders

Frauen aus Imbabura und Carchi Mujeres El Angel


Roland Beer Roland Beer

Ernst J. Petras / Kathi Sarue pure + poetic*
Ernst J. Petras / Kathi Sarue

Saxana M. Schoetschel Mensch-Natur / Natur-Mensch
Saxana M. Schoetschel

Leipzig liest Leipzig liest


Simone Carole Levy Simone Carole Levy
Betriebsausflug "Betriebsausflug"
Leipzig liest Leipzig liest


Ausstellung Rafael Diaz Rafael Diaz
Ausstellung Tesa Hammerstedt Grünberg Tesa Hammerstedt Grünberg
Rafael Díaz

Ausstellung vom 31. Oktober bis 9. Dezember 2011

Homepage des Künstlers
Arnau Puig über Rafael Díaz (englisch)

Vernissage am 31. Oktober 2011

Publikumsoffenes Arbeiten am 1. November 2011

Rafael Díaz (Ecuador, *1958)

The why of certain images ... do they impart knowledge or sensitivity? That, precisely, is the question I ask myself as I contemplate Rafael Díaz’s work. Does the artist approach art with a gut instinct? Or is art a record of the artist’s life and experiences? The answer to both is yes–but I believe that only instinctive art converts design and creation into more than a powerful record.

On observing Díaz’s oeuvre and fully aware as I am of its genesis (the reality of the artist’s life and surroundings), the artistic facet ultimately overcomes the sensitivity of the observer. What on earth are those headless beings, those transfigured dogs and those displaced legs and shoes? What do they aspire to being? An almost innate perception of the completeness of each object transforms the organic hotchpotch into something grotesque: beings or objects lacking in wholeness, wrought by a moral law that has to prove itself alive and to prevail when all else in this world fails. This is one interpretation of the representations in Díaz’s work. But the other interpretation may be that those heads emitting wisps of smoke and cloud are merely a diluted presence; the effect achieved through paint, colour and texture is somewhat incoherent with the decisiveness of a physical or moral statement. But, where art would turn were nothing to remain of reality save the impression of what memory wished to retain?

Here begins a creative activity that only artistic sensitivity can sense. What’s more, it seems to me that the picture is inverted, with the present and reality now becoming remnants. The entire body descends from the non-head with its smoke and clouds, no longer acting as a body but as a plastic conjunction and combination, as a space in which colours are displayed according to a certain order; as Maurice Denis the Symbolist would say (and want), it is no longer an organized body but a mix of colours that are attractive in themselves, thanks to the sensitivity of a creator.

Though reality may be central, does it in fact matter which precise reality gave rise to those plastic meditations if the result manages to overcome all ties to reality without preventing the pain of reality? But it is not what is lived in art—experienced by every human being in a highly personal manner—that matters, but the form that art attains—abstract in relation to the real, but very real in regard to itself. What impacts in art is not the categorically expressed nature of something objective, but the unstoppable vibrations of something perceived, something situated in space as the product and outcome of a body language that no longer claims to, but aims to, depict the plastic subtleties of what was once life and rage. Concrete forms inevitably and inflexibly bear witness, whereas art forms always keep the flow of emotions alive.

This is the path followed by the painter Rafael Diaz in pursuit of human social reality, with so much suffering that the pain eventually numbed. Yet Diaz’s plastic versions and pictorial depictions conserve all the flow and richness of what continues to be emotionally present and symbolic. Not in vain does this painter refer to his “secret archives”: the fountain of foul and forceful waters from which the chromatic emanations flow. Profoundly aware of this is the poet, who preserves that which must never escape from the music of words.

Arnau Puig