viaje al infinito sueño solitario


(Our consolation, my consolation)

Nadia Hernández

To know you better (Para conocerte mejor)

You have to put a lot of love into an exhibition for it to flourish, just like a relationship or friendship...

that’s why I write (to know you better)

my notes and thoughts
disjointed and rowdy
connected through the synthesis of the image and its story

On page 20 of The Latin American Photobook, which B and Jacob gave me, I read that:
the Latin American landscape “cannot be rendered in an image, it is a series of mental processes.”

Upon listening to me explain the title of my show: Nuestro Consuelo, Mi Consuelo
My mom shared the following reflection through the phone:

“It is the way in which you have found relief and consolation in knowing certain parts of Venezuela.
You have lived those experiences through other eyes, images, relationships, shared moments, your grandparents’ longing, it is their consolation, remembering fruits, flowers, bugs, the house, the mountains, the market, the title seems appropriate to me because it coincides a lot with your circumstance.”

After the account of his kidnapping (redacted) reflected upon the grandiosity of the Ávila mountain,
A site familiar, now took on a different meaning.

7 years ago, in the darkness of my abuelos’ house, amongst pumpkins and cacao, bachacos and ants,
I sensed the mist of the Andes descend and calm the entire city.
Fresh air and rain through the night...

On a recent internet search I too wanted to grasp the light of the Caribbean through Reverón’s Playa de Macuto.
In dialogue with the intangible, in metaphysical exchange.
The grandiosity of the landscape: a remedy, a consolation.

through her own eyes
through their own eyes
through his own eyes
through my own eyes

An argument about Latin American culture being above all written and not visual
left me wondering why my paintings are rendered in letters?

The poetry is determined by the assemblage

The words draw out the

Criticism, humour and testimony

Each part in dialogue with each part in dialogue with each part in dialogue with
each part in dialogue with each part in dialogue with each part in dialogue with
each part in dialogue with each part in dialogue with each part in dialogue with

There is no memory, but a collision of opposing moments in time, where both hope and critique are
palpable in the spaces where the natural environment meets the words written on the walls.

Como sentirías la luz tras mi enramada?
How would you feel the light through my shady place?

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