18Libro_Sinestesia_completo-final

Ignasi Aballí
The smell of the body, of the skin, of the paint. Painterly body, painted body;
skin and bones, picture and stretcher. Transparency, painting as non-fiction:
anti-painting, the window open to nowhere, or to the wall, to the white. Behind
there is nothing. Absence of composition, absence of gesture, absence of stroke,
absence of movement, of representation.
Given the impossibility of a perfect body, constructed, geometric, inorganic
(an-organic): skin, wrinkles, scars.
Beginning of physicality, of opacity. Smell of skin: sweat, blood, perfume, paint.
JOSE PEDRO CROFT
This is a piece that is in suspension and creates a dynamic situation of rotation
in addition to the vertical shift.
In so doing it creates situations that are both dynamic and static for the
regular volume.
Inside each column there is a double volume, one painted a soft yellow,
which refers to mild smells, and the other painted a deep violet, which refers to
intense smells.
Deva Sand
A work of art is an inner search. It is, perhaps, a search into the past, into
childhood, a pursuit of our essence. And there is no more direct way to reach
the past than smell, because smells as these are the real stuff of memory.
The smells of the happiest memories of my childhood are of my
grandparents’ house, of its furniture, of its corners. My grandmother was a
tightrope walker. Her perfume was that of weightlessness, of the emotion of
the whole circus fixed on the line up on high. And also that of her kitchen, of
the pots, of the spices she cultivated like a druid in the forest of the elves. These
aromas were mixed with those of my grandfather’s workshop, also filled with the
fragrance of the forest, of the living sap, the roots, the dry leaves, the smells of
woods that came from exotic places laden with memories of other worlds. My
grandfather was a carpenter with strong hands, full of creativity, of patience, of
love for his work. With those materials he made chairs, tables and cupboards,
but he was also an alchemist in that he brought together the essences of these
materials with that of our lives, creating something that had its own new smell
but also all the others and ours, separately.
Sean Scully
I remember perfectly my second exhibition in New York, in 1982, with David
McKee: it was comprised of six large painted canvases, tremendously physical. I
worked on them until the last week.
The paintings gave off as good an aroma as they did an appearance. It was
like walking through a canyon of deep color, with the essence of oil paint filling
the entire gallery.
An exhibit with everything: ear, touch, sight, smell.
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