In White

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Previous note about plastic arts: I have the same idea than about music or literature – they exist to serve my whishes, my whims, my will. Shall my wishes be satisfied, assuming that to the art I will not satisfy any will, whatever will it may be. That is settled. So, let`s proceed: I have not the slightest idea about the relevance of Manuela Xavier art. And, if you want to know, I don`t care. I like it because, as well as the children who are sincere even when they don`t know why.

pedro rolo duarteI don`t know why, and I thank Manuela for it. She made me see what I wouldn`t ever be able to see, the colour in the whitest white of the whites. It`s true that I start to see colours in her lines, in boxes that I touched me and in combinations that attracted me. There they are, also surrounded by acrylic reflections of light. But then I saw the white getting dimension, shape, making shadow and reflecting light. I saw the white coming out of the colour – or vice versa, as you wish, because also from white comes the colour.

In Manuela`s studio, by the floor, under an intense light which supplied the works with the “totality” and the colour we wished, according to the preferences, the point of view, the dream. I let my eyes stumble without rules or destination upon the dimen­sions of the white, while founded a spot of another colour here and there – and. Could you imagine, that spot was also white?

Manuela`s art serves me and I don`t ask for more than that. It gives me peace and tranquillity, space to think and to go further, it pushes me to desire and discovery. Pure delight and, forgive me the arrogance, pure good taste.

I write most of the times at night. Not rarely I find myself in the inwards of the silence, looking at box of strong colour – yellows, reds, violets, blacks. It was Manuela who painted it, I proceed to write . Not rarely I find myself, hours later, resting my look upon a little white painting where I catch a glimpse of see waves, or wind pieces or sweet cotton, or sea – salt that life ask for as bread to the mouth it was Manuela who painted it.

It`s in these moments of solitude and giving that I understand why I like Manuela`s work: she also turns her work into an open pagewhite or in white bright, or in bright. Full of colour.

Waiting for the flood that the eyes can give to it. The talent in this gamut of colours, now to anybody`s eyes: each one of us picks up the true colour of that page, of that sea. For instance, I like the red which exists in that white.