No, it is not only a pretty face. I could tell much about each one of them and even the ones I still don’t draw or paint. Those girls and women that touched me in some way beyond their eyes or beautiful lips, beyond how lovely hair or expression they can have. It is something they say without words, a magical moment, an image that breaks the routine up. A spark of love flying in an aesthetic language. Such strong sweetness that makes me confused.
When I was younger I fell in love with my models like a boy that falls in love for first time. I loved that and still that connection exists without leading this into a non artistic result. But how could I not draw them if there is no a kind of love there, but that love of a child that feels his heart beating when saw that girl in school that looked wonderful when the sun made shine her hair.
Oh, and the enthusiasm that comes with it. It is hard to explain them that I can like them deeply without the need of getting something else from them even if the desire and thoughts are uncontrollable, but at the same time that fire is what feeds big part of the creator’s mind and heart. That glorious inner conflict in the artist when needs to be an artist and not a man.
Like Rembrandt telling to one of his shy models in a movie of 1936: “Don’t see me as a man, imagine that I’m like the wind around you”. It is just like looking at the golden leaves of a ginkgo biloba in an autumn morning and not smiling or feeling there is still hope in our turbulent lives.
Yes, from the most sensual experience to the most spiritual, from veins to tears. I don’t know if many of you just cried looking at at beautiful sunset, here it is the same. And the wonderful thing is that no one of them are the same. So unique souls, unique eyes, persons. Persons that I catch only in a second or micro second of their existence. The perfect second.
A pencil caresses their humanity on a paper but my mind kisses their soul slowly in each thought, each time I draw a curve or shade their cheeks. Muses that keep my faith in a God that drew them first than me in His infinite intelligence, the same God that designed the hands of Chopin, a God that made my sinner hands but that made me able to contemplate how lovely is the human being and these girls, muses or models, however you want to call them, these girls are the music in my deepest darkness.
And I know I’m not the best artist to draw them or paint them, it is not a false modesty, I know there are so much better and awesome aritsts that would make of them fabulous creations, I just do what I did always: to take from this reality what gives me a little bit of joy.
Thanks to all of you that feed this dimensión of mine that holds on a search, even not an artistic search but existential in the bottom. Your kindness and trust make me smile in the silence of my bedroom, in the nights when I imagine a composition. Your words drive me from the gloomy floor of my doubts to a peaceful Apollinean land.