Angeles Atauri

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SPAIN, 1965

The pines of Angeles Atauri want to be palm trees. They are his invented trees. From time to time a chair appears. A chair that, in case you don’t know, belongs to the Little Prince. It is empty, it will arrive at any moment. It is domesticated. In Mariangeles’ paintings and notes you have to linger for a while. The roots that think they are a reflection of the glass. The ovals that embrace solitude. The needles shade the empty chair. You have to look at the trunks hit by the wind, shudder at the marriage of two neighbouring vessels. You have to follow the lines of the intertwined branches and get lost in the forest of mixed needles. You have to listen to the smell of the sea that gushes out of the symmetrical ravines. Colour on one side, detail on the other. They seem to seek a balance between light and shadow. These impossible structures, without argument, with the only sustenance of a breath.