Luisjo Hernández's artwork takes us down to the tiny, almost imperceptible scales of matter. His paintings look like membranous single-celled organisms, holding inside them the simplest forms, charged, on top of that, with a sharp ghostly atmosphere. Inside their outlines, the coiled filaments of shadows and voids are left trapped, like expressions of a continuous genetic replication.
It is in the fluid of these microorganisms that even self-portraits and crucifixions can find a home. The perceptual deformation of his papers makes us doubt, to the point of getting confused among his colours, whether these might not be gems or precious stones waiting to be polished. Or are they perhaps the deformations of an eclipse? Either way, we're being handed a challenge.
But why does Luisjo Hernández keep shutting us in among coverings and deformations of the circle? Why do his faces with their held-back expressions always seem to be a second away from revealing something to us? What is the mystery behind so much enclosure and so much shelter? What are they about to tell us? Everything you breathe here is secrecy.
An enigma of fertility, as in his artwork Venus despertando el misterio, an enigma of death and resurrection, as in his canvas Dominó, an enigma of knowledge, as in El nacimiento de la consciencia or his Atenciones divididas. His faces are full of expressions that return us to the inside of the primal cellular form. To the most basic colouring, to white, to bronzes, to the metallic quality of MiTa, to the marble of Muuna, that egg from which the questions we leave unanswered may well be born.
Luisjo Hernández's artworks have been part of numerous exhibitions in various galleries and cafés in Barcelona and Bilbao over the last twenty-five years. He also won runner-up in the first Osakidetza painting competition, back in 1989.
More on Luisjo Hernández and his artwork here.
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