Rainbow's End by MAYA MUNOZ
July 11-August 10, 2013
July 11, 6-9PM
The figure was absolved from the offence of its very existence; so goes the irony of a painter’s spoilage. While one’s natural method of erasure would entail certain gestures of cleaving and scattering of pieces, the painter instead grafts – (but first: the figure was a casualty of a slash-and-burn, where its slaughter was necessary for a fertile ground).
Rainbow’s End is the irony of being pushed to the threshold, the twist to a riveting, focused ambition for destruction of a visual vocabulary originally wrought to pin down the silhouette of mortality. This is no shadow boxing – it is demanded that in the pummeling of a creation, the creator in turn would need to destroy herself. It is not determined whether that somehow there were miscalculations for such devastation for things have bloomed from here. It has welcomed a new vocabulary of life – that within the clause of decalcification is the fine print of a gathering-forth.
This is exactly where Maya Muñoz has moved on. Known for her nebulous figures caught in between their creation and denouement, she has confronted us with a new body of works in the absence of these phantoms. Landscapes missed the imprints of the foreseeable wanderer as they are instead marked with “poems of days,” other terrains repeat and lock themselves in grids as we are left suspended without kindred to our own ephemerality. Throughout her work, however, personas had gradually lost their identities – one mark at a time – as they gradually dissipated into (the) Landscape. But little did we know that there was a precise point where they were assaulted – the physicality of what led to their demise so harrowing that there is no way it could not have happened. Rainbow’s End reveals this juncture and also uncovers what came out on the other end.
Rainbow’s End bears no irony but rather unfolds in the precise narrative of painting – where surface calls for motions that tells no difference between creation and annihilation. It is a fabric of a world that sweated the blood of its own imagery, and has posed as a flower between bloom and wither – the seeds of its own kind after the same rainbow’s end.
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