By Yudi Kravzov
When I got to Hanks there was already a round of beers and a large order of crispy, delicious onion rings in the center of the table. Out of the crowd came Mike, who photographed Master Scully’s playful, large-format portrait paintings for our catalogue. We hugged warmly, and he began by saying that both pieces are a real gem.
Mike was a sociology professor in Boston who has always had a soft spot for photography. Because of his very training he has a crude way of seeing life. He has spent months surrounded by pessimism, telling us that we are a selfish race and, ultimately, not very human.
“…So many things go wrong,” Mike was saying, as he pulled up a chair to sit at our table with his beer in hand. “Not to be surprised by the evil in the world, nor to be paralyzed by inequality; the only thing I know is that the level of corruption and the lies of institutions in governments of all colors must be recognized. There is a lot of hypocrisy. Each one, pretending not to see catastrophe, pretending that integrity, honesty and decency exist.” Then, with tears in his eyes, with his heart in his hand he said: “I did not understand, how with all the good people in the world, we have people who are so mediocre in power. I don’t understand.» He paused to order another beer, then continued. «If the way to make good decisions is to do it in the name of positive principles, why do we allow it to be in the name of power, hatred, revenge and money? It is impossible to overlook not having principles. What do you say?” He raised his voice and asked me directly, “If integrity and honesty is sold, aren’t the results always wrong? The world is rotting!” Mike yelled in perfect Spanish, then without realizing it slammed his fist on the table.
There was an awkward silence. It was then that I took out from among my things, the drawings I made in the DRINK AND DRAW, at the gallery with teacher Paola Ripoll last week. Of course my strokes looked rough, it was obvious that I needed hours of practice, but I believe the composition itself was not bad. Everyone at the table began to study my work. They criticized the fall of the breasts, the proportion of the waist, and the natural beauty of the model. Symmetry was discussed and the environment began to be transformed. Once again, before my eyes, art offered a breath of peace, generating a virtual parenthesis. It became a moment where neither social difference, nor our diverse origins were important. Art creates a space where people with different origins, jobs, genders, professions, trades and situations can meet.
Mike sat down next to me, picked up my drawing, and thoughtfully, with his index finger, began to silently outline the breasts on the paper. I could see his anger ebb away. Then he asked where and how long I had drawn it. I replied that it was my first work. One afternoon. Every Wednesday from 4-6 at Irma Appel Gallery.
«It’s a two-hour oasis with pencil and paper in hand, in front of a nude.» I explained with a smile. Mike congratulated my courage, applauding my inexperienced strokes. I leaned over and whispered in his ear that this is how I reconstruct the world, because it is falling apart for me too.
