The Rainbow Palace
Origins
Childhood is so far off, nonetheless everything starts there.
On top of the table of my mother's studio rested, standing as a soldier guarding the entrance to the palace of psychodelia, a kaleidoscope that someone gave her as a present and which I moved up and down with the eye clipped to the peephole.
Through this tiny window I could see an explosion of fragmented things. The multiplied corners of the room, the lamps that projected from the ceiling like light chips and above all the paintings set in and out on my mother's easel, decomposed and reassembled in that prismatic chamber that was enclosed in the colourful entrails of that wonderful spyglass.
Those child games were the ones that later, trespassing the threshold of adolescence, will guide us to confront some new images, this time not produced by this mirrored prism that to some degree had already lost some of the magical charm of its multiplying imaging, but others that were born from my own strangeness, sorts of maps that in my inner self seek to explain some new internal labyrinths unknown until then.
Then one day, attending my never ending school days, holding a pen in my hand, I discovered the marvels of graph paper on my until then useless math notebooks, fantastic working corner where I could discover the true value of those scientific subjects which exams I wasn't able to excel, but which offered me that blank space where I could manage to develop those geometrical, crystallized maps, that set a certain order into all that chaos in which my mind was drifting, always looking for a safe harbour.
So from then on the geometrical compositions built from the printed grid on my notebooks and traced with common black, blue and red coloured ink pens that I bought in some stationery store next door multiplied. They offered me a resting space during those school days, providing some amusement to the teachers that caught me drawing them instead of attending to his or her boring expositions.
Later on, realizing that those labyrinths were trying to overflow the edges of my exiguous notebooks, I came across the idea of building my own grids using a pencil, discovering the additional advantage of been able to erase those reference lines from the paper, which let these spaces, crystals, palaces and spaceships, to hover freely in a white space.
Ricardo Fernández Smith
Palma de Mallorca, january 19th 2014.
Childhood is so far off, nonetheless everything starts there.
On top of the table of my mother's studio rested, standing as a soldier guarding the entrance to the palace of psychodelia, a kaleidoscope that someone gave her as a present and which I moved up and down with the eye clipped to the peephole.
Through this tiny window I could see an explosion of fragmented things. The multiplied corners of the room, the lamps that projected from the ceiling like light chips and above all the paintings set in and out on my mother's easel, decomposed and reassembled in that prismatic chamber that was enclosed in the colourful entrails of that wonderful spyglass.
Those child games were the ones that later, trespassing the threshold of adolescence, will guide us to confront some new images, this time not produced by this mirrored prism that to some degree had already lost some of the magical charm of its multiplying imaging, but others that were born from my own strangeness, sorts of maps that in my inner self seek to explain some new internal labyrinths unknown until then.
Then one day, attending my never ending school days, holding a pen in my hand, I discovered the marvels of graph paper on my until then useless math notebooks, fantastic working corner where I could discover the true value of those scientific subjects which exams I wasn't able to excel, but which offered me that blank space where I could manage to develop those geometrical, crystallized maps, that set a certain order into all that chaos in which my mind was drifting, always looking for a safe harbour.
So from then on the geometrical compositions built from the printed grid on my notebooks and traced with common black, blue and red coloured ink pens that I bought in some stationery store next door multiplied. They offered me a resting space during those school days, providing some amusement to the teachers that caught me drawing them instead of attending to his or her boring expositions.
Later on, realizing that those labyrinths were trying to overflow the edges of my exiguous notebooks, I came across the idea of building my own grids using a pencil, discovering the additional advantage of been able to erase those reference lines from the paper, which let these spaces, crystals, palaces and spaceships, to hover freely in a white space.
Ricardo Fernández Smith
Palma de Mallorca, january 19th 2014.
Comments 1
Los que habitan este espacio sagrado no se ven. Están quizás recogidos en celdas invisibles.
Sobre los cuatro ejes principales asoman sendos penachos que envuelven mentes transportadas a otros mundos por la meditación, rozando la blanca pureza.
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