I AM A CABALLA TOO
My times of a very close relationship with Alberto Lescay's work have unusually provided me with a position of a permanent dialogue with his creation in the profound and diverse universe that it proposes to us. I do not want to nor am able to do a review on the work of this artist or poet, as I have decided to call him. I am just part of that audience that follows, admires, and enjoys him. It could be said that I am one of the bewitched under the suggesting features that refer me to the north, to the palenque1of the cimarrones2, to the ceremonies and offerings to mother soil, also of those that indulge in that erotic game of a naughty adolescent.
The series dazzled me and still does. They are universal: to write about them is a challenge. They have been exhibited in another fashion. There is a question mark over each one of them. What will they think? Will they be satisfied with the outcome? What metaphor is this about becoming something that the gentleness of a poet names another thing and then place us on stage? The feminine noun of caballo (horse) is not precisely caballa, and I do not say this in an explicit way, as not to go against the rule that the author has dictated. They are Caballas and that is it.
I wanted to take my chances by making something physical out of the image of the poet and the thought of them, and also the sensation that their presence make me feel in a relationship that I want to be very much trustful, not anymore in the interpretation of those who think, but in the certainty that I own his secrets, his truths, his dreams and frustrations. I wanted to provide them with a voice and make a scenic game out them that allowed me to make them be heard, and they are.
The canvases that show the Caballas just remain calm in the presence of the poet, who makes them arrange themselves and express just as they are. Their arrival will outline the images, which are their character. This is just the start of the poet's work. From here, they will stage a fight for supremacy and there will always be someone who will call to order, but I would like to ask: will the poet be able to do without the Caballas? Will he be able to keep deciding which ones will be present? We do not have answers whatsoever. That is exactly what is all about!