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Memory is like luggage-something
from the past we take into the future. It can be light-sometimes
just an overnight bag-or it can be unwieldy, steamer-trunk heavy.
(Shed like ballast when things get tough, it can be difficult
to recuperate.)
Memory is a strong umbilical cord
or a gossamer thread we try to protect against the ravages and
embellishments of time and distance, loss, and the pitfalls
of nostalgia.
Memory is the trail of breadcrumbs
that will lead us back home, a series of connections to a source.
Or, maybe more accurately, it's
hard to have a home without remembering connections.
This work in this exhibition refers
to the myth-like power of childhood memories, not as embalmed
stories of people and places but as living, breathing reminders
of sights, smells, textures, sounds, tastes, and emotions, like
the vibration of wanting with all of one's being, against all
odds.
So the paintings are narratives
of possibility as well-an image of a boy fishing (Malecón),
casting a single hook into the sea off the majestic and corroded
Malecón in Habana, for instance.
Eugenio Espinosa
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