María Gato and María Rey

 

I would like to go inside her paintings.  I get close. I stick my nose on the canvas.

I would like to sit down with her naked women, bathed in light and serene, to listen to the sound of the saxophone and the tinkling of the instruments in the operating room.

But those privileges are only enjoyed by “her own.” That’s what María calls them.  They are her people captured on the canvas. They cover the walls of her house, they greet you in the hallway, they surround you in the studio and watch over the bed.

María Gato paints any world that has captured her attention, and any person who is patient enough to await every stroke of the paintbrush.  What I don’t understand is why she avoids painting her Atlantic eyes.

The “people” in Gato’s paintings come and go. They fulfill their duty, work, play, or simply observe. Without the least shrillness, without a sign of imbalance.  They are serene, warm and welcoming “people.”

One of these days, from getting so close, I’m going to fall in.

I will get inside her paintings.

 

 

María Rey

Journalist

Translation from original text in Spanish