jean arp, werner berges, jakob bill, lanfranco bombelli, beppe bonetti, joan brossa, mary callery, rafael canogar, tom carr, hannah collins, ivan chermayeff, marcel duchamp, xavi déu, adolfo estrada, peter fillingham, dario grossi, richard hamilton, marine hugonnier, alfredo jaar, jasper johns, r.b. kitaj, sol lewitt, richard-paul lohse, joan miró, françois morellet, bruno munari, carlos pazos, perejaume, jaume plensa, dieter roth, francesc ruiz abad, giuseppe santomaso, albert serra, antoni tàpies, rosa tharrats, jordi vayreda, lluís ventós, laura white
the primary colours are akin to the prime numbers of our visual and essential experience.
if blood were not blood red, if the essential fluid of life did not have this colour, could we consider red as a primary colour? in other words: if the sky were not blue, if the nostalgic puddles, which reflect the sky, that we call oceans, were not blue, with each gradation corresponding to the depth of the water and the ray of light upon its surface. what would we say of this colour? would we dare call it a primary colour?
and what would we think if fire were a different colour to yellow? or if the seeds sown in the soil did not blossom months after patiently waiting for rainfall, in the nutritious yellow of cereal (the haughty cob and pride of wheat, the most humble and shy barley)?
these colours are primary – essential and primitive – because before the others they take pride in marking the world with their festive shadows. before they get a chance to mix, these three would already expect to emulate the nudity of white. let´s think of the perspective of the glance, which is completely blue: mountains that become blue, one´s mood, which as we know in english, can also be blue.
let’s consider the redness of so many delicious fruits, which quench, first, the glance and then, the thirst: the cherry and blueberries, watermelon and strawberry. reds, many of them vaguely resembling in form the heart.
let’s imagine a light which would not depend on the sun, which is to say, to show us a faded yellow, perhaps slightly milkish, like the sickly light of a cloudy morning. that irreducible yellow of the light which guarantees and procures the clarity of our consciousness.
and what would the art of jasper johns resemble without this triad of colours?
cesca castellví llavina
august 10th to september 13th 2020