Delirium: a state of mental confusion.
Horizon: the line where the earth’s surface seems to meet the sky.

(By Carolina Convers)

I like painting. I draw from art history. I studied art, took art courses, participated in many open calls, and I’m still here, working through images, trying to figure out what we’re doing here and where we’re going. Continuing the existential task, like any human being aware of their craft.

I think about the current state of the world—the one we see and the one we hear. There’s no denying the global crisis, where civil rights and feminism are under threat, facing attacks from a rising right-wing. I want to be clear: this is not a political work.

Still, as I work on a piece with a feminist lens, I feel—like any person—an exhaustion, a deep discomfort with the invisible violence that surrounds us. And I feel a sense of despair when I see how the world remains violent. So, where are we headed? The logic of entropy shows how the world consumes itself.

In Colombia, our history is made up of many layers of violence. Technology puts everything in our hands. The rules of the economy keep changing. Culture is eclectic. And yet, in a breath of hope, I believe all of this has some good and some bad in it—and that it can be managed.

But painting is what matters to me. And from here, I recall Alejandro Obregón’s 1962 painting Violence.

The recurring images in my work point to that horizon—some show parts of female figures: half-heads, hands and arms suspended in the air, referencing previous works. Others appear between two planes of pigment, like landscapes. Some figures float in abstract geometries and atmospheres. That’s how I see it—this horizon where humanity rushes forward, in a delirium. A delirium of everything.