About: BA in Fine Art. University of Salamanca/Spain & Croydon College of Art and Design.
Currently living in Ávila/Spain.
© 2019. All RIGHTS ARE RESERVED
Urban Landscapes. Sedimentations
The “Urban Landscapes. Sedimentations” series postulates an excessive synthesis of the artistic imagination. These walls-canvasses include the cohabitation of a certain exquisite contemporary art sensibility and a chaotic (and yet, paradoxically, nostalgic) celebration of the indeterminate, the anonymous, the strictly temporal, the fragmentary, difference (in the deluzian sense), the vital and incommensurable urban experience, the irreducible multiplicity that resists categorization and can only be represented by the creativity of the brush or/and the paint spray.
Tapies was confronted with the quiet surface of the walls, covering them with his particular iconography, a series of allegorical signs which intended to convey transcendental concepts. There is a certain Buddhist-inspired solemnity and stillness in his paintings. Worsley’s wall paintings propose an antithetical stance. There is no allegory, no quietude or resignation, the symbols do not conform to established iconographies, instead they aim to reflect the existential vibration of the aesthetic experience of the modern self, of an individual subjected to the incessant and accelerated to-and-fro of the 21st Century city. These walls tell chaotic tales, their pictorial sedimentation aiming to express the flow of individual and valuable gazes that mark the nomadic vertigo of the city inhabitant, endowing them with a particular and ineffable meaning.
Worsley’s Urban Landscapes, charge the subjacent and fragile viewpoint of the city. A miscellaneous of structures, shapes and filtered architectures held between latent brushstrokes break the first perspective inviting the observer to change it, modify, clean, reduce or expand it. It is in this open space where all factors have influence, where all times converge.
The versatile textures superimposed like dregs gifted with artificial caress and organic life. Under the acrylic walls, the oil arteries make the painting multiple heart beat, sometimes figurative, and sometimes abstract, and through which form slips and is there placed, the suggestive outlines of whom transforms and increases them as they pass through. On the surface, a dress of grafitty to wear the subliminal street, managing to transmit the involuntary illusion that we all, in the visual projection, are part of his sedimentations, not the friction of the city’s naked body in his hands; layer after layer, painting after painting.
The wall becomes echo and the echo canvas. Beyond the canvas there is nothing, it’s like Artaud’s body. It doesn’t need organs because organisms are the enemies of the body. The body is alone. It cares for itself. It’s what happens to Jorge’s painting. It doesn’t need annotations or warnings, nor differences made into nostalgias. Worsley’s textures invoke art history because they are transhistorical. Sedimentations are made urbanite and landscapes are the translations of those passages that Walter Benjamin interpreted out of Baudeliare’s poetic sediments. The waves that draw the ins and outs of the paintings are variations of another amplitude, which concealed become the threshold of the poetic. They are intensities inside the extension of meanings without a name, that’s why they are landscapes. Anonymous landscapes which show behind the traces different levels of sensory solutions. And here is the paradox of his paintings. Feelings are rationalized and reason made sensory. Depth is made surface and surface designs the vital impulse of a body that is face to face with its own features. In this apparent chaotic interpretation, the traces, absent of transitions, are externalized and overtake that which in their own space is made temporary. An unfastening of time’s wire.
The finger erodes the nail of reality like the brush or any other instrument, as it traces the materials that it wants to interpret, as they themselves are wall. Because they themselves are the interpretations capable of propping up the emptiness that others have not been able to unclutter. Because Jorge’s painting is a clearance of the rubble of his own art and therefore of all art. We are in an artistic landscape where the unnamed continues to be unnamed but in another architecture of masks and signs. We are not within a post-modern limit. We are on a poetic deterritorialization. Hanging in the abyss of a trace without a steadying wall but supported by the tension of the materials, pointing to the spaces where every painter recapitulates in the free sequence of another perspective. And here is the audacious empathy of a painter inseparable from his production: the trajectory of a retreat that leaves nothing behind. It’s an accident posterior to the event that this unity hints at, inside the depth that points indistinctly. It’s a constant scratching without search or find. It’s a differentiated identity and a difference without probability of identity. This leanness goes unnoticed in the intimacy while the atmosphere focuses on the stretch mark of detention. Let’s go back to the exuberant surface of the visual, slowly injected in the everyday dissolving of the world, in the complementary melting of the partial and the proscription.
Itinerant Exhibition 2002-2003
Beauty doesn’t resist
imagination. The memories get inflamed and
closed in dark obstacles, they
violently expand in this
embalming of skins.
The unexpected is a prodigy
of wait. And it’s in these spaces where
I try to lift up an oracle to the worn out destiny
of these pretences.
Fragment from ; “Superficies” (La retorica del cuerpo) 1993.
“Notes on an exhibition by Jorge Worsley”
In Art, form is also content. This is why, in his paintings, Jorge Worsley re–imagines the topics and the figures out of colour and perspective, to investigate the themes of his predecessors. The painting by Paolo Ucello, “The battle of San Romano” gives him a good excuse to shelter under a great number of figures: the horses dominate a great blurred mass of forms in which the prominence of the composition and the colour is dissolved in order to take us to a smudge of thought, and intuition, maybe.
These intuitions sometimes become a plot in which the spectator only has to follow the apparent simplicity of the work. But, as with all thought and every artistic text, it is susceptible to an hermeneutical consideration, to an interpretation destined for a few.
I believe that in order to understand Worsley’s paintings one has to know beforehand some artistic theories; I think that the meaning behind his work often involves a resort to art history – the history of art is only a part of a painting, like the history of literature is only a part of poetry. And tradition is only there to be broken. At least from the perspective of an artist. Creation is not possible without the necessity of rupture. But also an individual reading has to be believed as a form of a break from tradition.
Worsley has read this tradition in a perfectly contemporary way, in the form of a questioning, without necessarily having to follow preconceived aesthetic guidelines. This is no obvious remark, behind his work there is an effort of style, something which, I suspect, is not very common today. And style is not only made by the hand, it doesn’t matter that that’s how we recognize a painting; style is an effect (and sometimes a defect) of thought. This is why Jorge’s paintings gain from the interpretation, they are not a link with the past, but rather the self-assertiveness of personal thought: the model for a painting can be another work of art. Giacometti used to say that there aren’t any realistic paintings, time passes between observation and painting, in this time the artist thinks and interprets. It doesn’t matter if it is a short or long time. There is art. The reference for these paintings comes from a time and a way of thinking which belongs to the past. But in time art is.
TO SAY THAT WHICH HAS NOT-BEEN INVITES US
TO THE VISCOSITY OF LITERATURE AND ART
TO THE PARALYSIS THAT SILENCES
THE MATERIALITY OF DISCOURSE
IT IS IN THIS STATE WHEN
THE FACE OF THE INTERSTICE
OF THE “IN BETWEEN” BECOMES
WE ENTER A TERRITORY
WHERE METAMORPHOSIS IS EXHAUSTED
AND IN WITCH VACUITY
IS NO LONGER A CHANGE BUT
A METATROPIA: THE CONQUEST
Goyo Ojer 1993