Miquel Mesquida

AT THE EDGE OF THE NIGHT

We are facing one of the few artists who constantly open new and enriching career shortcuts —of experienced painter who perfectly intuits where he can go. Miquel Mesquida has drowned shortcuts across dense forests through which the artist moves with surprising skills —leaving the verdant grove intact.

The shortcuts are comforting for those walkers who, after long hours of travel, run into a gentle and generous villager —who tells them where they should go to reach the desired goal, their rest. Actually, shortcuts have been created by gentle and generous villagers who needed to meet and help someone and who have been planning for years a sinuous and charming path among the thickness. Miquel Mesquida is one of these villagers. He knows the forest and its shades since one day he believed it was worth planning a shortcut. Step-by-step, he marked a stone with a blue-night colour, because —in case he was wrong— he would not forget return, origin and protection. These feelings would be assumed without sadness or desolation, because one cannot forget that we are speaking about an experienced professional of what he does: emotions.

Standing in front of any of Miquel Mesquida’s pieces, is to face infinite doors whose frame can no longer be called frame and must be called “emotion” or be called “nothing”. Miquel Mesquida doors are open widely. They are almost obscene and they exceed architecture that receives them and hinges that support them. Spectators do not need to call, they are drawn by an incandescent magma of acid colours that shake their backbone as an accurate beam and stimulate the most —till then lethargic— nervous fabric.

Versatile topics are packed and invoiced from the edges of the night; they wait for acknowledgement: centaurs, animal-man, man-animals, upstairs, downstairs, demotions- promotions,promotions-demotions,hand-heart,heart-hand,head-sex, sex-head, mystic-meat, meat-mystic, tightrope-icarus, icarus-tightrope, hypnotic-eccentric, eccentric-hypnotic, insomniac- morphemic, morphemic- insomniac,...I could ask —you, readers of these lines— to conclude these series but I am sure you wouldn’t manage to approach it in its magnitude —as neither I am capable. Nevertheless, it would be an interesting game of mental and emotional agility.

Topics and figures in gears provide the work an immense freshness and they liberate the format of physical pre-established measures. Miquel Mesquida gets all that surrounds his work to take part of it and also us who observe it and load the sinks and feel fresh, certain and, in short, completely human.

With an uncommon strength, Miquel Mesquida is a vincitore: he has a neo- expressionist, lyrical, mystical and cabbalistic stamp, apart from his comparison and his initiation brushstroke. He is one of those few artists who found himself and —in this meeting— has put the artistic general mediocrity in evidence. Vincitore, vincitore has all those fools —who get dirty with alarming assiduity the term “art” and its emotive part— on the rack. These fools of dressing-table will be flamed when they contemplate this more than interesting exhibition of the artist in the lovely Espai d’Art Miquela Nicolau.

Juanjo Oliva