Aparte (pausa), casi

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The three watercolors are the size of a standard sheet of paper. They resemble places or processes, whatever that might mean. There are flows and roots, layers of something accumulating and dissolving until it becomes nothing again. Each image could be just a fraction of something that continues beyond the page. And yet, none of those places exist. They come from the imagination. Water and pigment transform the image as it is painted.

The White Cube (as someone has decided to call this place) has windows. They sit high up, almost against the ceiling, and daylight enters through them, shifting as the hours pass. The white of the room moves with that light; hence the Cube bears the name of a color that is one thing at eleven in the morning and another at six in the evening. There is something else here that runs along the walls, drops to the floor, crosses a few corners, and climbs up to the ceiling. They are lines, though not entirely, because they thicken and thin. They are painted in a tone close to the white of the space and pass by the Cube's edges to continue on their own. Beneath the color, on the paper of the watercolors, faint gray traces remain, more visible in some than in others, and in none of them do they fully align with what was painted over them. Something similar seems to have happened with the Cube. A photograph of this room survived from a previous exhibition, and from it came the lines of this drawing, which later shifted and stretched until they no longer matched the originals. The three watercolors hang at eye level, each on a different wall. In one of them, a yellow line seems to circle around a shape. The drawing continues there, across the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. Daylight enters through the windows above, and the white of the room still refuses to stay still.

 

Santiago Díaz Escamilla
08.27.2026