The painting has been always the language of things as a whole, thanks to its ability to move to the wall, canvas or paper the tactile sensations of the nature, of the objects, of the skin, their textures, lights, even the sensation with which we are observed by the above mentioned reality, compensating like that our discriminatory retina, this modern tyranny of the image, this disease of watching, in which the identity of the seen lies between apparels of meanings that our neurons classify automatically, forced to look at even against its own will, blinding us constantly.
To whom it concerns to take the responsibility of “making us see” - as Paul Klee said-, is to the painter, to the artist in last instance - a healer of sight. It is the one who is condemned to force the limits of the appearances to fix or to re-found the beauty of the real thing. Ultimately, you, the vast majority, are not alien to this way of naming the things that the artists take as their everyday language, but do try, and if possible name the following images ... if you can resist to paint a picture when the Sun draws against the shade of our love in the sand of the way; when our son defies fear with the dizziness playing in the railings of a walk where the bluish and innocent sea waits for him to embrace and to swallow him, when the tree-lined banks of the river burst in spring as fireworks detained in thousands of green; when on the tiles of our kitchen our reflection interrogates us secretly; or even when we examine ourselves opposite to the mirror waiting to go some day to the other side, and while, we believe ourselves another one, sometimes so differently, sometimes so far away from who we were before fixing our eyes in this other one in whom scarcely we recognize ourselves, and of that we are thinking about listening to a voice that turns out to be familiar and distant, a self-portrait - in Paul Cañas's case, painted in acrylic - that reveals us who we are, without being able to hide it any longer.
The life of a painter is so short as ours. It is the life of the pictures - that of the painting-, which exceeds any human prediction, and for which it matters. And it is in its eternal existence where the painting will be held accountable with itself, in absence of the painter and of the spectators who had in some previous time. Pablo Cañas has understood it this way, and with enormous generosity he invites us to share his look on the nearby thing, his intimate corners, the faces of his affections, the humble tributes to his peoples and the local traditions, as well as his reflections on the painting and the painted items; his impressions on the life and the lived life, latent in his pictures... There has come then the moment of which the pictures become to us present and rescue us of the invisibility of the real thing to take us to the territory of the memory with the force of the colour, of the mastery of his paintbrushes, of the taste for painting that Pablo Cañas makes us discover in every picture.