The wind blows and carries off the storm, and it blows so hard it seems to drag away the tree's dark foliage, blurred towards one edge of the canvas, as if the pigment, still wet, wanted no limits. But in the opposite corner, the blue calm of the sky can already be made out between the clouds and, though the landscape is still smudged by the rain, the nightmare has passed. You'd say we're inside a dream. And as such, reality is still there, represented by a tiny house up against a tree that enigmatically doesn't stir.
The painting of Enrique Amado Moya (Linares, Jaén, 1940) seems to be settling things between reason and reverie, and to find a place between the two. The motifs are imagined and appear (or disappear) as if covered by a thick fog, in an earthy, grey palette. Strong colours that blur and contrast with notes of lighter ones, like ochre or sky blue.
The painter dwells on landscape with a style of Symbolist leanings, which he keeps in his portraits, their contours defined with a firm, thick black line. With the same range of colour, these can also be unsettling in that the background looks somehow unfinished, in contrast with the marked outline of some of the faces.
Drawing matters to Amado Moya, who learned its rudiments, and those of engraving, from the Galician master engraver Manuel Castro Gil, his teacher at the Casa de la Moneda in Madrid, where the painter studied.
As an artwork in its own right within his production, drawing also shows the artist's experimentation towards more abstract horizons. Like emotions, that inner self that takes no shape until it's on paper or canvas.
See Enrique Amado Moya's artworks
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