A few months ago, I was taught a technique to recall past times. Times that I buried due to anguish, guilt, or shame and believed I had killed forever.
It is said that emotional maturity is not achieved until a clear landscape of one’s childhood is obtained. The objects in this exhibition draw from some of the visions I have been recovering in this process where consciousness seeks itself.
In this showcase, the memories I have been treasuring seep into other interests and concerns that I am beginning to understand as pillars in my practice: fear, love, endings, God, light, the aggressiveness of the city, the moon, or mental fragility.
Let me briefly describe this meditative exercise: Lie down comfortably and close your eyes. Observe your breath for a few minutes. Dig into the depths of the darkness in search of your first memory on earth. Begin to construct chronologically from the memories that will emerge. Have compassion for yourself. Repeat the process daily, filling in the gaps
In my first memory, I am only a few months old and measure centimeters. A burgundy and warm room, blinds down, lights off. My mother walks around the room rocking me in her arms to the rhythm of the lullaby “La claire fontaine.”
May “The Child with the Mouth Shaped like a Moon” feel like a tender darkness. Like a field of despair where glimpses of hope sprout. A gray and solitary day in which ears ring, but in which, against all odds, a luminous feeling emerges when night falls.
Andrés Izquierdo
