According to Alejandro Pasquale, we are what we dream. This is the title of one of his works, and in it he compresses practically his entire particular and pictorial world. In this painting and in this title we find all the questions that the difficult equation of his work seems to propose.
We are what we dream, but we are what we feel, what we live, what we love, what we hate, what we suffer, what we eat, what we read, what we hear, what we sing, what we wish, what we project… We are our truths and our lies, and we are also what we paint.
And yes, Alejandro Pasquale is everything in those paintings: a child and many masks. A man-child with all the questions on his back, with all the pains and longings screaming through the parallel world that the brushes offer him; a child with something unsolvable who seems to like to wallow constantly in that wound of the past and of the permanent and active subconscious, which does not stop screaming the moment a pencil opens the door to that other dimension: representation. Painting-dreaming. These paintings are dreams posed from the consciousness of reason. And to interpret them as I pretend, is a useless enterprise. Therefore, let us take them to our own oneiric space and let them speak for themselves. Let’s look at them and close our eyes.
Shhh… Silence, silence!!! Let’s listen to their breathing, the delicate fluttering of the birds, let’s let ourselves be seduced by what they call the secret life of the plants and let’s put aside the questions. And if we come across that immense melancholy that seems to preside over that sphere of the world, let us not be frightened and let us allow that which we know we will not be able to decipher to express itself, but which we will understand if we do not ask questions. Perhaps therein lies that strange uneasiness that all life carries, the mystery of the simple flowers and those others with strange names, the impossibility of a garden that is imposed on us when we are pure forest and, in general, our bitter acceptance of having lost the paradise that, nevertheless, we feel still lives within us.
Rafael Doctor Roncero, Madrid.
(Text made for the solo exhibition “Portales” in Quimera gallery, year 2018).