Daniel Borda wanted a world according to his frenzied expectations. Thus, he decided to paint and live there. Alone, of course, because in his landscapes, absence is the main element of the atmosphere. And suddenly, one is sharing his own Eden, from outside, observing the impossible order.
His painting is sweet. Almost meditation, almost music. He ended up there after passing through hyper-realism, unsatisfied, like a self-taught, he did not ask for clues to aesthetics but to the views demanded by his inner relief. He made some concessions to informality, allowing the spot to feel free but at the same time forcing it to complicated symbolisms.
Foremost a tree, the universe’s axis. Its bare and elastic stem against the planetary landscape, the birds… Rather a view in the instant we pass through the mirror. That nostalgia’s cold.
Daniel Borda paints himself. Paints his terror to chaos, it means, the cosmos. There, everything answers to a secret order, the one that even the virtuosity we knew in his image treatment has succumbed to. The simplicity of exoticism, the panic to an inhuman perfection, to a universal harmony in which men, the predators, are not allowed.
Consciousness levels where even air has dissolved. The true merit is space, that invisible in those canvas, that distance between planes, that foreseen, feared or peace bearing. What can’t be owned, in short, the division between too worlds.
One self on the edge of dissolution. A victim of shape’s whim, transformed by hypnosis. Extraterrestrial one, one, who thought of discovering the ship of that other world and it was its own house, its own garden and one was another, who dreamt about a world of less perfect men, buildings, cows and trees.
Daniel has painted the absence.
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