lisboa revisited xabier gantzarain
I could explain why I started to paint on a street map on a street map of Lisbon, but what’s the point?
What’s more, just how would I explain the reasoning behind it? Reason, you see, has got very little to do with art. TS Elliot was supposed to have said that we have to cross unknown paths to get to unknown places. Wasn’t it Dubuffet who said there was an artist out there for everyone of us alive? That’s why I called the person who painted these pictures the Unknown Artist, because ever though the artist resides within me, they’ve painted the hidden me. I know it sounds schizophrenic, but that’s the way of it.
What’s more, Fernando Pessoa was born in Lisbon. He died there, too. So did Fernando Pessoa’s different characters. Schizophrenic literature in anybody’s eyes. Egas Moniz, who lived inside a squirrel’s head, knew a thing or two about schizophrenia and lobotomies. We first came across Albert Caeiro, another of Pessoa’s many characters, when he first popped up in a poem by Joseba Sarrionaindia. Ruper Ordorika later put music to the poem.
It’s the ninth song on “Ni ez naiz Noruegako Erregea”. Then there’s “Berandu Dabiltza”, the eighth track on the same album. This song was based on work by Bernardo Atxaga. You can read a snippet of that among the walnut trees.
For those of you who still looking for a reason: my heart.
I’ve just mentioned the Pott Band. Kortatu sang that culture was torture, but I don’t think that Fermin Muguruza would somehow say the same today. It has enabled me to travel to unknown places and it has opened doors for me. I have been able to find in books, records and paintings what reality has denied me. A meaningful parallel world that full of things it wants to say. Fiction and reality feed on each other.
But I don’t wish to be a bore. I’m not that naïve; we could easily live without art. We could get by without Xabi Ubeda’s photomatic snaps. What our life would be like, however, is another altogether.
We could also survive without ever having read Joseba Sarrionaindia’s Nao es tu or without having heard Mikel Laboa’s song of the same name. All we’d have to do is think like automats.
I just think that the photos are much more beautiful when I hear Laboa sing Nao es tu. Try it out yourself. Dig up Laboa’s Zuzenean and play track eight. It won’t take long.
While the song is playing, look at the images and let the colours, lines, signs and street names talk to you. You’ll come across the secrets the Unknown Artist has tried to bury in the paint. They haven’t sunk to the bottom of the lake of time, No lago do tempo.
What’s more, just how would I explain the reasoning behind it? Reason, you see, has got very little to do with art. TS Elliot was supposed to have said that we have to cross unknown paths to get to unknown places. Wasn’t it Dubuffet who said there was an artist out there for everyone of us alive? That’s why I called the person who painted these pictures the Unknown Artist, because ever though the artist resides within me, they’ve painted the hidden me. I know it sounds schizophrenic, but that’s the way of it.
What’s more, Fernando Pessoa was born in Lisbon. He died there, too. So did Fernando Pessoa’s different characters. Schizophrenic literature in anybody’s eyes. Egas Moniz, who lived inside a squirrel’s head, knew a thing or two about schizophrenia and lobotomies. We first came across Albert Caeiro, another of Pessoa’s many characters, when he first popped up in a poem by Joseba Sarrionaindia. Ruper Ordorika later put music to the poem.
It’s the ninth song on “Ni ez naiz Noruegako Erregea”. Then there’s “Berandu Dabiltza”, the eighth track on the same album. This song was based on work by Bernardo Atxaga. You can read a snippet of that among the walnut trees.
For those of you who still looking for a reason: my heart.
I’ve just mentioned the Pott Band. Kortatu sang that culture was torture, but I don’t think that Fermin Muguruza would somehow say the same today. It has enabled me to travel to unknown places and it has opened doors for me. I have been able to find in books, records and paintings what reality has denied me. A meaningful parallel world that full of things it wants to say. Fiction and reality feed on each other.
But I don’t wish to be a bore. I’m not that naïve; we could easily live without art. We could get by without Xabi Ubeda’s photomatic snaps. What our life would be like, however, is another altogether.
We could also survive without ever having read Joseba Sarrionaindia’s Nao es tu or without having heard Mikel Laboa’s song of the same name. All we’d have to do is think like automats.
I just think that the photos are much more beautiful when I hear Laboa sing Nao es tu. Try it out yourself. Dig up Laboa’s Zuzenean and play track eight. It won’t take long.
While the song is playing, look at the images and let the colours, lines, signs and street names talk to you. You’ll come across the secrets the Unknown Artist has tried to bury in the paint. They haven’t sunk to the bottom of the lake of time, No lago do tempo.
