I begin by choosing all of the colours provided by paint manufacturers. I place the designated pots of paint in the worktable, grouping them according to a possible colour pallete: I establish a scale of the colours that I might be using first and of their opposites, not in an optical sense or a chromatic circle, but by means of subjective and intuitive associations. Sometimes I limit the initial number of colours to be used. It has happened that only choose two colours, painting just with white and black. The intermediate hues appear whilst bringing out an intensity before starting to paint, or else result from a physical blend on the work surface, where the colour gradient appears as the paint flows. Dimensions, form, distance, come into action in the choice of colours. The painting process runs now and again interrupted by moments of contemplation, in which, as an observer, I experiment the multiple chromatisms at stake. The process keeps repeating itself, but the finishing moment is to be determined by a glance that reassures.

I handle a concrete problem: to make colours, forms and volumes work. Which dimensions might it still win, to the gaze of the onlooker, this collection of colours limited by the peculiar surfaces that host them? Will it be possible still to reclaim the importance of looking? Looking as part of a feeling? Colours and forms are more than that. Something emanates from their physical presence. The way they appear and structure themselves is determined in the making, which is a decisive part of the process of painting.

The colours are hovering in front of me, shifting as the clouds of a wind-swept sky. They carry each other, either be scratching or fading one into the other. They contrast amongst themselves, bringing about unexpected games. We are speaking of Arhnheim, Itten, Kandinsky, Chevreul, Goethe, to gather only a handful of explanations. But there is always something left to be said. The colour space is variable and ambiguous, not self-explanatory or affirmative. Not only does it enables one to speak of politics or love, but also of nothing whatsoever. Speaking of nothing is yet a possibility, the last possibility yet to communicate.

The place of communication, of contemplation, shifts. Images exist beyond whatever they may illustrate. They establish a world with its own vitality where the discussion of reality is but a minor issue. To reveal colour, to remember its existence, is only possible in the physical empathy of its internal nature.

Pedro Calapez

April 2008