Óleos sobre tela - 2007





Romeo Niram: Humanografia XX





Romeo Niram: Humanografia I




Romeo Niram: Humanografia II





Romeo Niram: Humanografia III






Romeo Niram: Humanografia V






Romeo Niram: Humanografia VI






Romeo Niram: Humanografia IV






Romeo Niram: Humanografia IX




  ROMEO NIRAM: LAS VENUS Y MAJAS DEL ÚLTIMO SIGLO


Por Héctor Martínez Sanz


Azay Art Magazine


 

En las cuestiones del arte siempre he sentido una sana envidia: desearía tener ojos de pintor y no sólo los ojos del espectador crítico. Descubriría todo aquello que el artista sabe y el público se pierde. Ahora bien, probablemente, si tuviera esos ojos, no escribiría, sino que tomaría el pincel y la paleta. Al fin y al cabo, el peor crítico siempre es un pintor, y el peor pintor siempre se dedica a la crítica. Veo y escribo hasta donde alcanza mi vista de público, con la frustración de no poder rebasar la frontera del cuadro mismo, el límite por el que, antes que objeto, el cuadro era una prefiguración del alma del artista enfrentado a una tela blanca. Por esta razón me gusta conversar con los artistas, pensando muy ingenuamente que alguna salpicadura de aquel mundo caerá sobre la mesa y podré recogerla, que alguna gota me ayudará a traspasar, acaso un poco, la obra acabada. Y he dicho “ingenuamente” porque es un intento vano, incluso absurdo: si el artista pudiera explicar su obra con palabras, no pintaría, escribiría, sería crítico y no artista, como hemos dicho. Peor aún si se trata de un ejercicio de autocrítica.

 

Es una lección recién aprendida por mí tras mis encuentros con el pintor Romeo Niram. Ante sus cuadros siempre tengo la sensación de estar perdiéndome algo que no puedo ver, aunque también esté pintado, imprimido en los trazos. Una pérdida original que no puedo subsanar. Ahora bien, a raíz de vernos y hablar descubrí que estaba perdiéndome otro “algo”. Él me había hablado mucho de sus series Brancusi=emc2, Ensayo sobre la lucidez, y Diario-Eliade-Ensayo, pero poco o muy poco hablamos él y yo de otro ciclo pictórico que, debo reconocer, me sorprendió en su contraste con las otras grandes obras. Me refiero a Humanographía, serie menos cerebral y más impulsiva, que tuvo gran éxito y magnífica acogida del público. En primer lugar, es un ciclo que me llamó la atención por la concepción de “Escritura de lo humano”. En el caso de Romeo Niram, todas las series que he contemplado se relacionan con escritores, artistas, hombres de cultura y científicos, sean estos Camões, Pesssoa, Saramago, Brancusi o Einstein y Mircea Eliade, excepto Humanografía, en la que la escritura es la pintura misma. Y bien sé que vivió y aún vive rodeado de libros, que lee y relee calmadamente un mismo texto si éste le ha revelado algo estético o intelectual, que luego lo estudia a conciencia, y que, incluso, disfruta analizando las calidades de la edición que tenga en sus manos. El libro y la escritura, sean humanidades o ciencias, literatura o física, son dos elementos fundamentales en su formación. En Humanographía se subraya, más evidentemente que en las otras series, que Romeo Niram escribe con la pintura. Al fin y al cabo, escribir es trazar líneas sobre una superficie, como lo es el pintar. Simplemente se usan abecedarios distintos.

 

En la Humanographia de Romeo Niram podemos leer su descripción de lo femenino actual, desde el tedio o la extenuación hasta la tentadora seducción, la amenaza y el dominio. El erotismo del desnudo no está tan destacado como el erotismo de la sugerencia de la línea curva en poses y gestos, o la insinuación de la bella proporción contemporánea de un cuerpo a través de la vislumbre que supera el juego de luces y sombras. No cae en las actuales tendencias que del desnudo directo han terminado en la provocación sexual, reduciendo el cuerpo natural a lo genital o a lo erógeno, sino que nos deja leer el mensaje de un cuerpo en gesto seductor, ya de espaldas o de medio lado, del mismo modo que un Goya lo hiciera con sus “Majas” o un Velázquez y un Boticelli con sus “Venus”. Es más, el desnudo ni siquiera resulta ser el dato esencial de la serie, sino sólo lo que más llama nuestra atención ante el instintivo pudor. Sin embargo, en la Humanographía de Niram es, incluso, más interesante encontrar los rostros y miradas, o las posturas, cargados de mayor provocación.

Pienso, por ejemplo, en la primera obra de la serie, donde el gesto del rostro y la posición abierta de las piernas de una mujer vestida con falda y de perfil, revelan una actitud de dominancia y de desafío social más acentuado. No hallamos en este óleo esa belleza clásica femenina, sino el atractivo de la mujer dominante. No dirigimos nuestros ojos al desnudo de la parte superior, sino que el punto de atención está perfectamente seleccionado hacia la margen derecha, donde el rostro y la pierna más levantada han sido dispuestos con inteligencia a la misma altura, aunque en direcciones contrarias, compartiendo la línea horizontal de nuestra mirada. Los rostros se fragmentan geométricamente, como rasgo aquí todavía incipiente, pero que se desarrollará en otras series de forma exponencial.

 

En otras ocasiones, el desnudo se oculta a sí mismo, como en II y en IX remarcando otros aspectos. Así, el conseguido reflejo en II nos sumerge en una bien trabada confusión de líneas en diversas direcciones que perpetúa el juego de la ocultación, el enigma y la confusión. En IX, contemplamos el tatuado del cuerpo, todavía ocultándose a sí mismo en la pose, que sigue, en armonía, el movimiento de cada una de sus extremidades y partes, en la dirección horizontal de todo el cuadro representada por las líneas, -entre ellas, la línea roja que veremos aparecer más veces-, para desembocar en un rostro humano de perfil. En esta pintura tenemos mayor armonía y equilibrio de las líneas que corren en paralelo y eliminan la tensión contradictoria que domina en la serie.

 

Otras dos obras de la serie muestran elementos alejados del puro desnudo. Una de ellas es V, donde la mortecina luz que entra y se esparce desde la izquierda a través del enrejado y el colorido retrato del rostro de una mujer en la parte superior, roban todo el protagonismo al cuerpo que se pliega sobre sí mismo en la base del cuadro. También ocurre con las líneas, cuando comprobamos que lo rectilíneo de las rejas y sus sombras, o las dos perpendiculares rojas de nuestro costado derecho –elemento reiterado en casi toda la serie-, o las que forman el marco cuadrado del retrato de la muchacha, vencen a las curvas en sombra del cuerpo que, en reposo, queda abajo, contradictorio y desapercibido. Hay aquí una lucha entre el cuerpo y el rostro separados. Podemos hasta deducir esta pugna al ver que la luz se detiene exactamente en el límite con el cuerpo y no lo ilumina. Sin duda alguna, es en este óleo donde de mejor manera es posible percibir los ingredientes de la serie Humanographía, hilados por medio de una pincelada de profundo lirismo.

 

La otra pieza a la que me refería anteriormente es XX, en la que el subtítulo ya nos indica sus particularidades: “Crítica y Autorretrato”. Ya hemos dicho que Romeo Niram está escribiendo y describiendo, y, ahora, tenemos ante nosotros este juego del subtítulo que bien pudiera leerse “Autocrítica y Retrato”, aunque sólo después de contemplar el cuadro. Aquí, el pintor se encuentra con su tema, la mujer. Ella reposa, no se sabe si extenuada o aburrida, sobre una silla frente al autorretrato del pintor. El valor ambiguo de la pose es, precisamente, el foco de la autocrítica. El mismo símbolo del cigarrillo en manos de una mujer desnuda, que podría llevarnos a pensar en una tensión sexual, también serviría para interpretar una escena de tedio, al estar sostenido en alto por un brazo en ángulo recto, en contraste perpendicular con la dejada posición del resto del cuerpo y las líneas de la pintura. Resulta enigmática la postura, tanto como aquella sonrisa de la Gioconda de Da Vinci, sin poder llegar a concluir la actitud de la mujer, que podría, incluso, representar la indiferencia. Y enfrente de ella, el autorretrato que menciona el subtítulo, sobresaliendo en color sobre la gama de grises que dominan el cuadro. Es posible trazar dos ejes perpendiculares que demostrarían el esfuerzo de simetría y equilibrio de la pintura, a la vez que resaltarían algunos datos curiosos, como el hecho de que el centro está vacío o que las figuras de la mujer y del autorretrato ocupan juntas, tan sólo, una tercera parte de la obra. El autorretrato, aún siendo el punto de atención, surge borroso y más pequeño que el resto de la escena. Lo que en realidad soporta la carga de toda la pintura es el espacio vacío, el fondo sin figura, aspecto que aparece en prácticamente toda la serie de Humanographía.

 

En las obras está implícito un alto conocimiento de la proporción, del volumen de las formas, de la perspectiva, y del principio de movimiento. En este sentido, Romeo Niram está más cerca de la pintura clásica de lo que un simple vistazo a los cuadros y su temática podrían hacernos pensar. La mujer sobre la que escribe en sus pinturas no es una Madonna del Renacimiento, ni las Venus ni las Majas, que hemos mencionado, sino la Venus y la Maja contemporáneas, en el mismo sentido en que Manet pintó su Olimpia, pese a la lejanía del impresionismo. Y, acaso, la que más artísticamente contemporánea resulta es III, como ejemplo de volumen, proporción, perspectiva y movimiento. En esta obra percibimos el trabajo del volumen y el movimiento en la voluptuosidad de las formas y el esparcimiento del cabello en el aire. Frente al modelo femenino extremadamente delgado o las mujeres anchas que habitan y engrosan la historia del arte, estamos frente a la mujer voluptuosa de finales del s.XX, cuya mayor insinuación es el propio cuerpo sin vestidura, en consonancia con el valor escultórico de la carne. Igualmente, la melena larga, más salvaje, no recogida, caótica, se convierte en esta mujer en un motivo estético en coherente con el cuerpo de estos tiempos. La opacidad del fondo negro sugiere el abismo, el secreto impenetrable, desde el que la mujer se asoma dejándose ver sólo en parte. Realmente sentimos que queremos ver más, lo escondido y no visible donde el resto de la mujer se guarece, allá donde no llega la luz. Y una vez más, junto a la luz y la oscuridad, tenemos las inquietantes líneas rojas en cruz en la parte superior de la pintura.

 

Romeo Niram, con Humanographía, ha escrito uno de los mejores ensayos pictóricos contemporáneos acerca del enigma femenino con la mujer más reciente, apuntando más a su misterio como origen de la belleza, apoyado sobre las mujeres de los grandes maestros pasados –Da Vinci, Boticelli, Goya, Velázquez…-. Un enigma expresado con la inquietud del espacio vacío, con el oscuro fondo misterioso e impenetrable, y con la contradicción de líneas y direcciones, con la luz y la oscuridad de la que emergen insinuantes, seductoras o amenazantes, las partes del cuerpo desnudo de la mujer, con posturas y miradas retadoras o ambiguas. Humanographía no es erotismo, ni vanguardia… es un intento por trascender la carne del ser femenino, superar la mera tentación física así como el rasgo biológico y sexual, y usar el cuerpo como metáfora que nos lleve al “más allá”, al carácter, al alma, al abismo y al desafío. La mujer de Romeo Niram no es un objeto de deseo o un elemento o modelo pictórico reducido a lo estético y al ideal de belleza, sino que rompe con el tópico artístico de la mujer como icono y nos transporta a una mujer mucho más antirretórica y con mayor personalidad.

 

Y justo aquí, me detengo yo, frente al cuadro, sabiendo que existe ese “más allá” de la pintura, ese “otro lugar” donde se alzan los pinceles de Romeo Niram para escribir y se callan las palabras de la crítica. Lo dije al comenzar: no tengo ojos de artista, sé que me pierdo algo y que mis líneas, quizás, tan sólo hayan arañado la superficie artística. Pero me satisfará que, aunque insuficientes, sirvan de puerta de entrada para el espectador al increíble universo pictórico de Romeo Niram.

 

 

   The Venuses and Majas of the             Last Century

 

Héctor Martínez Sanz

 

Translated from Spanish

 

 

I have always felt a healthy envy regarding art issues: I would like to have a painter’s eye and not only the eye of the critical spectator. Thus, I might find out all that the artist knows and the public loses. However, if I had that eye, I would not write, I would take up the brush and the palette. In the end, the worst critic is always a painter and the worst painter always takes up criticism.  I can see and write as far as my spectator eyes reach with the frustration of not being able to overtake the boundary of the painting itself, where, rather than just an object, the painting becomes a foreshadowing of the artist’s soul facing a white linen. This is the reason why I like to chat with artists, thinking with naivety that some bits and pieces of that world may fall on the table and I would be able to grab hold of them, that some drops may help me pierce through the finished work of art. I said “naivety” because it is a vain attempt, if not absurd: if the artist were able to explain his work in words, he would not paint but write, he would be a critic and not an artist, as we have already said. It gets even worse in the case of an exercise of self-criticism.

 

This is a lesson that I have recently learned during my meetings with Romeo Niram. In front of his paintings, I have always had the feeling that I am losing something that I cannot see, although it is painted, recorded within the brush strokes. An original loss that I cannot make up for. Therefore, on account of our meetings I found out I was losing another “something” as well. He spoke a great deal about his series Brancusi E=mc2, Essay on Lucidity and Diary – Eliade – Essay but he rarely mentioned, and neither did I, another pictorial cycle which offered me a great surprise for being in contrast with the other great works. I am speaking of Humanographia, a less cerebral and more impulsive series, which was successfully received with great enthusiasm by the public. Firstly, my attention was drawn by the concept “Human Writing”. In Romeo Niram’s case, all the series that I have contemplated relate to writers, artists, people of culture and science, for example Camoes, Pessoa, Saramago, Brancusi, Einstein or Mircea Eliade, except for Humanographia, in which the writing has become the painting itself.  I know so well that he has lived and is still living among books, that he reads and re-reads calmly the same text if it has revealed something aesthetical or intellectual to him, that he later studies it thoroughly, and that he even enjoys analyzing the quality of the edition he has in his hands.  The book and the writing, be it of humanities or science, literature or physics, are two fundamental elements in his training. In Humanographia, it becomes more obvious than in other series that Romeo Niram writes by means of painting.  In the end, writing is drawing up lines on a surface just as painting is. They simply use different abecedaries.

 

In Romeo Niram’s Humanographia, we can read his description of present-day femininity, from tediousness and extenuation to seductive temptation, intimidation and dominion. The eroticism of the nude is not as highlighted as the eroticism of the suggestion of the curve line in poses and gestures, nor as the insinuation of the beautiful contemporary proportion of a body being glimpsed at through a game of light and shadows.  He does not fall in the nowadays tendencies which have turned the direct nude into a sexual provocation by reducing the natural body to its genital or erogenous details, but he allows us to read the message conveyed by a body through a seductive gesture, from behind or in profile, in the same way that Goya did with his “Majas” or Velázquez and Botticelli with their “Venuses”. Furthermore, the nude is not even the essential object of the series but only what draws our attention due to instinctive modesty. Nevertheless, in Niram’s Humanographia it is more interesting yet to find faces and glances or more provocative poses.

 

I am considering, for instance, the first work of the series where the gesticulation of the face and the position of the woman dressed in a skirt, in profile, with her legs open, reveal a dominant attitude and a more accentuated social defiance. We do not find in this painting that classical feminine beauty but the attractiveness of the dominant woman. We do not direct our glance towards the nude in the upper side because the point of attention is perfectly chosen towards the right edge, where the face and the most uplifted leg have been carefully aligned at the same height, although in different directions, thus sharing the horizontal line of our eyes. The faces are geometrically fragmented; a feature that is now at an incipient stage but that will exponentially develop in future series.

 

On other occasions, the nude hides itself, as in II and IX, letting other aspects flourish.  Thus, the well-constructed reflection of II emerges in a very well constructed confusion of lines drawn towards different directions which perpetuates the game of concealment, enigma and puzzlement. In XI, we contemplate the tattoo of a body that keeps hiding itself through its pose, a tattoo that harmoniously follows the movement of each of its extremities and parts in the horizontal direction of the whole painting, represented by the lines (among which the red line that will appear more often) that flow into a human face profile. In this painting we have more harmony and balance due to the parallel lines that eliminate the tension dominating the series.

 

Two other works of the same series show elements that are farther from the pure nude. One of them is V, where the pale light that enters and diffuses from the left corner, through the railing, and the colorful portrait of a woman in the upper side steal all the protagonism from the body that bends over itself at the bottom of the painting. This also happens with the lines. At a closer look, we can see the rectilinear lines of the railing and its shadows or the two perpendicular red ones at our right side – a reiterated element throughout the entire series – or the ones that make up the square frame of the girl’s portrait and win over the curves of the shadow of the body which reposes in a contradictory and unperceiving manner. There is a struggle between the separated body and face. We can even deduce this fight from the light that stops exactly at the edge of the body and does not illuminate it. Without any doubt, it is in this painting where we can best distinguish the ingredients of the series Humanographia, united by a brush stroke of profound lyricism.

 

The other work that I have previously mentioned is XX where the subtitle offers us a clue about its particularities: “Critique and Self-Portrait”. We have already said that Rome Niram writes and describes and now we are presented with this game of the subtitle which may very well be read: “Self-Critique and Portrait” although this interpretation turns possible only after contemplating the painting. Here, the painter meets his theme, the woman. She rests, whether exhausted or bored – we do not know, on a chair in front of the painter`s self-portrait. The ambiguous value of the pose is precisely the focus of the self-critique. The same symbol of the cigarette in the hand of a naked woman, which could lead us into thinking of a sexual tension, may also be interpreted as a scene of tediousness, as it is sustained by the arm in a straight angle and in perpendicular contrast with the loose position of the rest of the body and the lines of the painting.  The pose is as enigmatic as that smile of da Vinci´s Gioconda and we cannot reach any conclusions regarding the attitude of the woman that may also represent indifference. In front of her, there is the self-portrait mentioned by the subtitle, standing out from the shades of grey that dominate the painting as a result of its colours. It is possible to draw 2 perpendicular axes that would demonstrate the effort to achieve symmetry and balance and at the same time some curious data may come out, for instance that the centre is empty or that the figure of the woman and the self-portrait jointly occupy only a third of the painting.  What really holds the load of the entire painting is the empty space, the figureless background, an aspect present in almost all the paintings of the series Humanographia.

 

 

There is an implicit high knowledge of proportion, volume of the forms, perspective and movement in these works. Form this point of view, Romeo Niram is closer to the classical painting than a simple glimpse into his work and themes might show us. The woman about whom he writes in his paintings is not a Madonna of the Renaissance, nor the Venuses and Majas mentioned above, but the contemporary Venus and Maja in the same way that Manet painted his Olympia, despite the distance from the impressionism.  The most contemporary of them all is III, as an example of volume, proportion, perspective and movement. With this painting we notice the work of volume and movement in the voluptuousness of the forms and the spreading of the hair in the air. In contrast with the extremely thin feminine model or the large women that populate art history, here we stand in front of a voluptuous woman of the end of the XXth century, whose greatest insinuation is her own naked body in consonance with the sculptural value of the flesh. Likewise, the long, savage, loose and chaotic hair is transformed into an aesthetical motif in accordance with the body of these times. The opacity of the black background suggests the abysm and unsolvable secrecy from which the woman emerges, allowing us to see only a part of her. We can really feel that we want to see more, the hidden and the invisible where the rest of the woman hides and the light cannot reach.  One again, between light and darkness, we come across the intriguing red lines forming a cross in the upper side of the painting.

 

 

Romeo Niram, with Humanographia, has written one of the greatest contemporary pictorial essays on the feminine enigma, taking as a model the more recent woman, highlighting mystery as the origin of her beauty and supported by the women of the past masters – da Vinci, Botticelli, Goya, and Velázquez. An enigma expressed by the unrest of the empty space, the dark mysterious and impenetrable background, the contradiction of lines and directions, by the light and the darkness from which emerge, with insinuation, seductively or intimidating, parts of a naked feminine body in challenging or ambiguous poses and glances. Humanographia is neither eroticism nor avant-garde…it is an attempt to transcend the flesh of the feminine being, to surpass the mere physical temptation and also the biological and sexual attribute and to use the body as a metaphor that takes as “beyond” towards the personality, the soul, the abysm and the challenge. Romeo Niram’s woman is neither an object of mere lust nor an element and pictorial model reduced to an aesthetic beauty ideal but a woman that breaks with the artistic topic that sees the woman as an icon and leads us to a much more anti-rhetorical feminine figure of stronger personality.

 

This where I stop, in front of the painting, knowing that there is a “beyond” , that “other place” where Romeo Niram raises his brushes to write and the critic’s words become silent. I have already said at the beginning: I do not have an artist’s eye, I know that I am losing something and that, maybe, my lines have barely scratched the artistic surface. But I would contend myself with the hope that, although insufficient, they may serve to the spectator as an entrance door into the incredible pictorial universe of Romeo Niram.





HumanoGraphia : Masculine versus Feminine in a suspended world


By Simion Doru Cristea


AGERO MAGAZINE

 

 “HumanoGraphia” is a term created by the artist Romeo Niram for his latest series of paintings, and an approximate translation would be “human writing” meaning writing “with”, “about” and “through” Man.

 

My attention was caught by the painting entitled “HumanoGraphia XX”. The painter gives his HumanoGraphias names written in Latin characters, like a sort of Via Appia or Via Dolorosa from the well-known penance prayer read on The Holy Friday in the Orthodox  Christian Church. We are not far from this religious dimension because the name “Friday” (Venerdi in Italian, Viernes in Spanish) evokes the goddess Venus (Venere, in Italian) goddess of love, of pleasures and of erotic relishes.

 

At the zero level of symbolic interpretations, the viewer is confronted with its narrative. The painting is composed of two levels: one is human, figurative and the other is non-figurative-transcendental. The human framework is marked by two presences: the self-portrait of the author and a woman’s nude. At this level, we notice the different types of execution: modern - of the self-portrait, photographic - of the nude and technical - of the transcendental space that occupies two thirds of the painting.

 

The painter’s self-portrait appears to be in a vaginal dialogue with the naked, seductive and lascivious woman, seated on a chair. In a generous, opened pose, she offers her entire being, in which her sex occupies the central position, to the artistic glance. She is seating on the chair in a position of maximum comfort, extending her body in a more comfortable way that such a chair would normally allow. Her legs slightly opened in an erotic invitation, she is smoking with a bored air, the hand holding the cigar is raised in a theatrical pose. Her look does not follow the path of the smoke that veils her in a smoky mist, on its way to “the world beyond”. The lingering trace of smoke seems to open a channel between the two worlds, anchored in infinity.

 

We are confronted with two worlds: one of shadows, of smoke and of transparency turned into opacity, and the other of light, directed from above and falling on the objects in the horizontal plane. The shadow of the self-portrait is dark and strong whereas the shadow of the woman is pale. The two of them meet and look at each other within this space that offers no clues to a logical understanding. The dialogue created is a meta-painting, a rhetoric and aesthetic essay on the condition of the artist and of the work of art, a variation on the theme of the man that succeeds in seeing himself. The distant gaze of the two persons makes their meeting possible on an immanent level, but this option is insufficient to the artist’s consistency. Consequently, his self-portrait is suspended. He does not rely upon any biographical, theoretical or programmatically pre-established data. He, as a creator, invents his own biography, his own chromatic and ideatic consistency.  He needs no sustain.

 

 The gaze of the woman functions like the projection of the magical lantern, forcing his reality to gain shape, majestically, from her being, she gives birth to him. As Karl Gustav Jung would say, it is the personification of that particular part of masculinity (animus) inside the structure of the feminine ego. It is a woman’s beautiful and eternal dream of love, to which this woman surrenders totally, directly, shamelessly. The artist’s virility is marked by his studied beard - sign of wisdom or of sovereign reason - and by the dishevelled hair. We have a game of projections: on the horizontal, just as She materializes Him from the substance of her spirit, He also gives life to Her, in the shape of the perfect curbs of the great Venus, in the human hypostasis of the pitcher filled with ambrosia and nectar.

 

On the vertical, we have the fulfilment of their love story, impossible to understand because of its uniqueness. The background of the self-portrait, as well as its dominant chromatic note, is in a red shade, diluted towards orange, just a “drop” of the “vertical red colour” of human warmth, feelings, the ultimate fruit of the imagination from which men have bitten and still continue to bite, and which bears the name sin.

 

The narrative of the figurative level is constructed in opposition with the abstract layer of freedom that turns itself oppressive to those who enchain their imagination by refusing to see beyond the narrative level. Here, in the generous shades of grey of unlimited innuendos, which take geometrical forms, if one looks for packs of wild wolves and silvery foxes, one may certainly find them. If one looks for a deeper level of intellectualism, one can see how the game of light, shadows and halftones suggests books, libraries and millions of pages that, just as snowflakes, fall gently in this transcendental realm. If one looks for silvery, deep forests, they are there as well. We find ourselves in a situation similar to that of the painting of a famous Japanese painter that swallowed its artist who followed the painted path. Here, on the phantasmagorical path of the cigar smoke, we enter the eternal love story of the two lovers. They see each other on the immanent level, but they live behind that heartbeat which marks with irregular strokes the greyness of their journey.

 

The naked self-portrait of the artist focuses only the superior, cerebral part of the man who never looses himself in sentimental and sensual evanescence. The omission of his hand does not grant him a demiurgically pose. The hands of the woman, although visible, do not suggest creation, because to her creation is something biological, sexual. The nude tells us clearly that she is not pregnant, but she is sending an invitation to conceive, in order to embody that diffuse and abstract space of passion, rendered in the superior part of the painting.

 

The game of reception continues. We notice, in the left corner of the painting, the artist’s signature, and in the right corner, in thick, medieval characters, the word Critique. This textual presence may influence the viewer. Some may take as a reference the ordinary significance of the word, which is to look for imperfections, techniques, exemplifications of the artistic reality in a conceptual manner, turning the artistic text into an excuse for their own critical divagations.

 

Others may interpret the critical act as an act of creation, even as an act of “failure” of creation, that is, of semantic recreation of the aesthetic reality offered by the work of art.

 

We prefer the third understanding of the word Critique, with a philosophical, Kantian touch, also promoted by the linguist Eugeniu Coseriu: the critical act is an act by means of which an artwork is promoted, that is, it is a vital and necessary pedestal for the artwork. The artist certainly had this latter acceptation in mind, because if we look closely, the shade in which this word is written is very similar to the shadow left by the voluptuous body of the woman seated on the chair. Thus, this word is associated with the second level, because of the shade similarities. The artist signature is grey, his name marking the presence of the grey level into the brown one, of the artistic transcendence into the reality of immanent concretization.

 

I have offered only a small part of the variety of the possible symbolic interpretations created by the painting named simply, within its complexity, “HumanoGraphia XX” by Romeo Niram. As there are no coincidences, the title marks a generative metaphor: the writing with and by You, Man, and with and by You, Woman. An answer to Nichita Stanescu’s “Hematographies”. The Decalogue has passed. We are at the beginning of a new era, above any divine law that may restrict creation and mankind. It is the speech of the liberation of the Man from all prejudices and limitations, a space of freedom, where brown will turn into grey. There are intermediary shades and not contrasts, closer to the real colour of life, normally characterized by the words “between” or “towards”. Consequently, the brown, human level occupies only a third of the total painting, a golden rule which offers a fertile opening to any viewer, enabling one to find whatever one is looking for: technique, composition, narrative, abstract elements, modernism, even futurism, elements that may be conceptualized and exploited in an infinity of variations.