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Country Path
José Luis Cremades

25 March - 27 May 2017

I conceive contemporary painting as a language that is alive and constantly changing. I approach it from abstraction, altering its mechanisms and structures, always on the basis of my own experience and technical evolution, consciously avoiding that my works turn into an illustration of a thesis. Each painting is a fact and has its own particular meaning by merely being there.

I explore relationships and the possibilities that arise when placing a work in a specific place/container in order to create a place for contemplation and reflection.

José Luis Cremades

It fortifies resilience.


It surprises and sets you free despite always being the same.

The breath of the country path has now become clearer.


The unexpected will set you free.

The path, wherever it takes, remains in the stillness of a latent dynamism, the dynamism of a still undetermined and undecided movement, a movement that is impossible to foresee. It simply happens.

It doesn't inflict any access. It just opens up and lets you in. The places we find along shiver when we get closer to them, bringing the fluctuation we sometimes find in those things that cannot be measured despite being persistently planned.

How to escape from those who measure and estimate? Every new step overshadows any sort of calculation that may be imposed.

When we gaze at it, it reactivates the discontinuity of an irrefutable movement, even in absolute stillness. The open space that unfolds before us cannot be homogenised.

It shows the spots of always possible erasures; the inseparable wood and stone, wind and downpour, reaffirm the dispersion as well as its own appearance. The notions of finding and loosing meet.

Outside the fact that it grows naturally, it also obviates its creator. While surpassing, it makes it impossible for the artist to remain in always unexpected openings that he cannot make his own. It exceeds a name, a date. The path rejects surplus and neutralises the creator. It leads the artist to copying.

Step by step, glaze after glaze, it surpasses the boundaries in the dark, a night that cannot be represented. It doesn't become determined through a single image – neither yours nor mine, and clearly not theirs. It was not; it will never be; it is not.

There is something that blossoms on the edges, something that hints at a place that is yet to be discovered.

Just like the path of José Luis Cremades, which now goes against the flow when enlightening and moving us. No names required.

David Peidro

Late winter 2017