«Viaje al corazón de la arcilla»


Space Project
May 9 – June 30, 2018

Ceramist Dalita Navarro confesses that she wants to go back to basics: to the most primitive, simple and truest of shapes such as that of a bowl, or the forms or vessels that keep her memories. Bowls can hold both sweetness and bitterness, and can quench thirst and give meaning.
These cardial pieces, millenary in their memories of centuries, of years, of days, of hours-, always have the shape of the heart, which rescue Dalita’s hands from the depth of her feelings, sorrows and joys; from the subtle engravings of the tender skin of clay and its expressive heart shapes.

From immemorial times, beings with a memory have felt the beats of their hearts and gave them different names over the centuries. The Greeks gave them the name kardia, which in Spanish means heart.
This exhibition is about the pains of the earth, of the sky and of the sea; the passions arising from the heart and its essential helpers; the same as the diseases they cause and the clay that expresses them; of hopes and desolations; of the devastations and the joys flowing from that spring. In it the echoes of sad songs like, “dónde estás corazón, / no oigo tu palpitar”; “soy enterrador/ y vengo/ de enterrar mi corazón.” Or the song of exile, “cuando salí de Cuba/ dejé enterrado mi corazón.”

Because, in fact, the journey of the heart resonates with the story of the joys and sufferings of human beings, who carry or are carried by their hearts. Every beauty maker is a small god: countless peoples have gone to war over beauty, as the Greeks did in “The Iliad.” For this reason, what doctors always did was to try to discover the relationships between the heart and the magical creations of the painter, or the poet, or the musician. “En el corazón tenía/la espina de una pasión/ – wrote the poet Antonio Machado-; logré arrancármela un día/ ya no siento el corazón/. /Aguda espina dorada, / quién te pudiera sentir/ en el corazón, clavada/.”

Since the Neolithic there has been nothing as close to the heart as ceramics, dwellers of silent caves, whisperers of troubadours’ songs of love across the Mediterranean to Altamira on the high coasts of the north of the Iberian peninsula to later embark in search of unknown worlds and drop anchors in the hearts of American poets. As Neruda said: “Mi corazón la busca / y ella no está conmigo”. And to sing with “Sur”, the unforgettable tango: “… Un perfume de yuyos y de alfalfas/ que me llena de nuevo el corazón”.

A whole heart arises from Dalita’s hands, weavers of clay. Her creativity is a delight. The gods of beauty are immensely generous.

Belisario Betancur



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