"Beauty is to enthuse us for work, and work is to raise us up"

_Cyprian Norwid_

 

My work always confronts an experience of Beauty in a tragic way, in all conscience that our existence is continuously debating between the brimming happiness of knowing ourselves existing and a profound anguish in front of the reality of death. Death… of course it has an answer!

 

There has always been in the heart of every man and woman the certainty of an eternal future life which postmodernity and its swings want to steal from us violently. I try to present it, not to impose it nor to explain it, because, as everything which is important in life, it is inexplicable from a mere rationalist point of view, not rational.

Beauty is related to Mystery, the Highest Arcane, who is knowable but impossible to reduce to scientific evidence, of the existing things. With our incomprehension, sicknesses and limits, the human being, above every other creature, can come into contact with this preterit Mystery. 

The postmodern world has as one of its goals to uproot manhood from Mystery, thus from these sufferings which reveal Him to us, and lead him towards a technification and reduction of reality to simple matter.  All this not because of malice but for lack of awareness of that which goes beyond our little intelligences.

 

Hence, the postmodern man and woman are doomed to look at themselves, their own wellbeing. They can not go out from their selfishness, their masturbations, their disappointment in front of a flat and reductionist world. Families can not keep together due to the fact that only matter and wellbeing are taken into account in order to, finally, without family, find ourselves terribly alone coping with the paradox of fleeing from suffering and find it twice.

 

The problem is that, without Mystery, there is no room for art in our collective thought as a people, because for art it is a priority to offer answers to questions which exceed other fields. So, art has turned nowadays into a rude caricature of what it used to be, leaning continuously on mockery, derision, or comicalness of things, normally revolving around itself, continuously answering in a selfish way the question of what art is and not projecting itself outwards, which is its essential vocation. If something has as its essential function the justification of what it is, we can say it has no function at all.

The basic disorder of most of the art prevailing in the market is that it leans unconsciously on the atheist existentialism. In 1946, Sartre demands from us a blind faith in order to believe in order to believe that existence is pre-existing to essence, that is to say that things create themselves with their own being. (The last delirium: Constructivism). Then, we can say that a dog is not born a dog but its behaviour and acts turn it into (make from him) what we would call a dog, but the pre-existing idea of a dog does not exist. If we apply this to art, it is not licit for anybody to say what art is and act in consequence (as logic demands from us), but “artists” vomit whatever comes first to their pharynx and, once expelled, they let their own vomit take the shape of a work of art, all of it watered with wonderful speeches.

In front of this bitterness of knowing ourselves without a definite aim to walk towards, I humbly present a contribution to find the ultimate meaning of things.

 

Marcos.

Pulchritudo valet.