En esta noche, en este mundo

What we want is to be inside those eyes. Look at what she sees. Make us a place, lend us the spyglass to see the island in the other side. Have eyes of a lynx, a cat, a fox. See the glow, when the night breathes.

It could be a question of geography, asking: where. The painting insists. Color seems to draw the border. Here this world, there, the other.

How far is that green? Is it possible to get there? Cross the threshold? The night is peaceful. There is no insomnia in this world. Here it is He sleeps because he wakes up. The darkness allows it, reveals. It is like the mountain that is mirrored in the lake, intact and defined.

We could also ask about the procedure, how Majo paints, or what he is doing besides painting. How to press the bristles against the canvas. How to find color. How does he bring from that hidden place the invisible things that we now see.

In the darkness, when the night breathes, the flame of fire enters. Its light enters.

Fear evaporates in the cloud. It disappears. It’s possible. That green. That blue. The black and the white. No more. Needless. It is not intended. It’s not even intended. We are facing an organism. The work: work, work, open, bark, honor.

There are the things that we saw once and we will want to look again. There are the birds that touch the sky and the dogs that sink their claws in the ground. There are the nests in the tree, the burning leaves and the birds that managed to get through the storm. The brush is a shovel to see something inside and a rocket to see something out there. Where is the flash of the moment?

Derek Jarman wrote: “The eye, I know, Alberti said in the 15th century, ‘is lighter than anything else.’ Fast color. “Fugitive color.”

Majo enters the color as if he had a secret key. There are tools that the magician leaves within reach. It’s like having lost something and look for it again. A ring fell in the sand, is the search for a return? The materials are on the table: smoke, feathers, green, sky that looks like earth, earth that looks like sky. Passages that are landscapes. The spyglass that reaches the mystery.

It seems that we have to wait to see the heart of the night. It shines just like the northern lights. You have to trust him. Have the vision of the dogs that see better in the dark.

You have to paint to know the phenomenon of light.

Majo creates the event. The gap is not a gap. The invitation is to follow a trail.

Pizarnik writes: “On this night in this world/extraordinary silence tonight/what happens to the soul is that it is not seen.”

The painting is the mantle upon the mantle. The mantle that guards the spell in its appearance. How to take care of lightning with your eyesight. May it last.

May it shine in the storm, may the eyes not let go of what they have seen.

Listening. The ears open on the surface. These feathers, these clouds, holes that are stars. It is learned. Of faith, of constancy, of the white canvas.

What I see is not the things I see. There is a new order possible. The thunder and the wind know him. In Majo’s painting the treasure is created. It is created because it is believed in.

Natalia Romero (Bahía Blanca, July 2024)