MADRAGOA
What is it that has etched itself into you?
Rodrigo Hernández
Installation view
Installation view
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #1", 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #1" (Detail), 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #2", 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #3", 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #3" (Detail), 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #4", 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #4" (Detail), 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #5", 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #5" (Detail), 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #6", 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #6" (Detail), 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #7", 2020
"What is it that has etched itself into you? #7" (Detail), 2020
13 November 2020 – 22 January 2021
Press release

EN

 

MADRAGOA is delighted to present What is it that has etched itself into you?, the second solo exhibition by Rodrigo Hernández at the gallery.

 

Similarly to brushstrokes thickened in the air, Rodrigo Hernández spindly sculptures unfold in the gallery space and superimpose one to another: A suspended arabesque hedge that harnesses the gaze, making it slip on its volutes, whirl in the eye of this doodle freezed in the atmosphere. The gaze is rocked back and forth and up and down, driven by the force-lines of this plant labyrinth modeled by the wind which, as it blows through its cloisonné branches, seems to whisper the words that this loose asemic writing traced in the air cannot circumscribe. On the other hand is a treasury of words denoting images, elements, actions, particles that the installation evokes but cannot describe.

 

Leaves, wind, smoke, vibrations, waves, lines, strips, face wrinkles, flames, shadows, paths, cuts, heat, threads, ribbons, sound, warmth, profiles, clouds, fragments, cables, plugs, roads, hair, eyelashes, brows, nails, marks, veins, light, thunders, tails, arms, strokes, bumps, links, smiles, roots, plants, curves, swirls, shifts, waning crescent moon, waxing crescent moon, fruit peels, c’s, u’s, r’s, ideograms, ink, chips, intestines, wink, s, fish, algae, shoelaces, rays, grass, milk spill, side view of something, cat whiskers, ass crack, ankles, curls, shoulders, ass, nose, mountains, bald heads or animals emerging from water, baby inside a belly, stains, 9’s, 8’s, 6’s§, muscles, muscle tissue, streets, crosses, X’s, T’s, holes for arms in shirts, folds, galaxies, star powder paths, spoon, stomach, cedilla, accents, commas, tongues, throats, rails, G’s, broken things, tiger lines, dresses, ties, hair clips, pendants, jewels – which can take any shape always –, bridges, eyelids, returns, inspiration, expiration, intersections, stitches , branches, vapor, fangs, jumps, signals, metro lines, train lines, tubes, flutes, arms, ropes, zippers, handles, wings, gas, graphs, birds, subjects, planes, blades, breath, worms, flowers.

 

All images that can be glimpsed in the floating installation before they suddenly dissolve in the network of winding lines, to take the shape of something else when seen from a different angle.

Neither writing nor images, although evoking both, the sculptures slide between the two dimensions, they cristalize in a choreography of spatial lines that expresses a form of knowledge immersed in the sensory flux of experience. The resulting ideogram draws the subject’s encounter with the world, an interpenetration between the two, assimilating the human subject to an element of nature – a plant, a fish – that lives in a mimesis with the surrounding world.

As the installation is open and fluid, so the list of words is potentially endless, suggesting that any viewer could add their own vision and that all visions are, more than anything else, a projection of themselves.

 

“In the window before me I can vaguely see the image of my face. Apart from my eyes, which are shining, and the part directly beneath, which dimly reflects light, the whole of the left side lies in shade. Two deep furrows run down the forehead, one deep furrow runs down each cheek, all filled as it were with darkness, and when the eyes are staring and serious, and the mouth turned down at the corners it is impossible not to think of this face as somber. What is it that has etched itself into you?” (Karl Ove Knausgaard, My Struggle: Book 2).

 

 

PT

 

MADRAGOA tem o prazer de apresentar What is it that has etched itself into you?, a segunda exposição individual de Rodrigo Hernández na galeria.

 

De forma semelhante a pinceladas espessadas no ar, as esculturas esguias de Rodrigo Hernández desdobram-se no espaço da galeria e sobrepõem-se umas às outras: uma sebe arabesca suspensa que capta o olhar, fazendo-o deslizar para as suas volutas, rodopiando no olho deste rabisco congelado na atmosfera. O olhar é embalado para trás e para a frente e para cima e para baixo, impulsionado pelas linhas de força deste labirinto vegetal modelado pelo vento que, ao soprar através dos seus ramos cloisonné, parece sussurrar as palavras que esta escrita asêmica solta, traçada no ar, não consegue circunscrever. Por outro lado, é um tesouro de palavras que denotam imagens, elementos, ações e partículas que a instalação evoca mas não consegue descrever.

 

Folhas, vento, fumo, vibrações, ondas, linhas, tiras, rugas faciais, chamas, sombras, caminhos, caminhos, cortes, calor, fios, fitas, som, calor, perfis, nuvens, fragmentos, cabos, fichas, estradas, cabelos, cílios, sobrancelhas, pregos, marcas, veias, luz, trovões, caudas, braços, golpes, saliências, elos, sorrisos, raízes, plantas, curvas, redemoinhos, turnos, lua crescente em declínio, lua crescente em cera, cascas de fruta, c's, u's, r's, ideogramas, tinta, lascas, intestinos, piscadelas, s's, peixes, algas, atacadores, raios, erva, derrame de leite, vista lateral de alguma coisa, bigodes de gato, racha de rabo, tornozelos, caracóis, ombros, rabo, nariz, montanhas, cabeças carecas ou animais que emergem da água, bebé dentro de uma barriga, manchas, 9's, 8's, 6's, músculos, tecido muscular, ruas, cruzes, X's, T's, buracos para braços em camisas, dobras, galáxias, caminhos de pó de estrela, colher, estômago, cedilha, acentos, vírgulas, línguas, gargantas, carris, G's, coisas partidas, linhas de tigre, vestidos, gravatas, grampos de cabelo, pingentes, jóias - que podem tomar sempre qualquer forma -, pontes, pálpebras, regressos, inspiração, expiração, intersecções, pontos, ramos, vapor, presas, saltos, sinais, linhas de metro, linhas de comboio, tubos, flautas, braços, cordas, fechos de correr, pegas, asas, gás, gráficos, pássaros, sujeitos, aviões, lâminas, respiração, vermes, flores.

 

São todas as imagens que podem ser vislumbradas na instalação flutuante antes de se dissolverem subitamente na rede de linhas sinuosas, para tomarem a forma de outra coisa quando vistas de um ângulo diferente.

Nem escrita nem imagens, embora evocando ambas, as esculturas deslizam entre as duas dimensões, cristalizam-se numa coreografia de linhas espaciais que exprime uma forma de conhecimento imersa no fluxo sensorial da experiência. O ideograma resultante desenha o encontro do sujeito com o mundo, uma interpenetração entre os dois, assimilando o sujeito humano a um elemento da natureza - uma planta, um peixe - que vive numa mimesis com o mundo circundante.

Como a instalação é aberta e fluida, a lista de palavras é potencialmente infinita, sugerindo que qualquer espectador poderia acrescentar a sua própria visão e que todas as visões são, mais do que qualquer outra coisa, uma projeção de si próprias.

 

“In the window before me I can vaguely see the image of my face. Apart from my eyes, which are shining, and the part directly beneath, which dimly reflects light, the whole of the left side lies in shade. Two deep furrows run down the forehead, one deep furrow runs down each cheek, all filled as it were with darkness, and when the eyes are staring and serious, and the mouth turned down at the corners it is impossible not to think of this face as somber. What is it that has etched itself into you?” (Karl Ove Knausgaard, My Struggle: Book 2).

Artworks

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