The painting by Mateo Balaban, known as Rain Bordo, is a visceral eruption of emotion and movement—an abstract force that captures the human condition in its rawest, most unfiltered state. Hung against a weathered, textured wall, the contrast between the aged, stoic background and the dynamic canvas reinforces the work’s central tension: the coexistence of stillness and explosion, of decay and energy.
At first glance, the painting evokes the sensation of a sudden impact—like something has collided with the surface of the canvas and sent matter flying outward in all directions. Black, branching lines radiate from a dense core, creating a spiderweb of chaos, yet each line feels intentional, as if drawn by the nervous system of a deeper truth. Splashes of red, yellow, and orange punctuate this web, like bursts of pain, rage, or sudden hope cutting through the darkness.
The red speaks of urgency—wounds or warnings—while the yellow carries flickers of illumination, almost like the glow of something sacred trying to break through. The orange, in its subtle presence, binds these emotions into a single experience of transformation. There’s a sense of combustion here, as if this is a map of a soul mid-burn, not in destruction, but in becoming. Rain Bordo does not paint with brushes alone—he paints with pulse, with memory, with the ache of being alive.
The surrounding environment—a solitary, elegant velvet chair and a large antique mirror—adds to the scene’s emotional gravity. The chair, empty, invites contemplation. The mirror, turned to the side, refuses reflection. It is as if the painting has taken over the role of truth-teller; it reflects not the face, but the inner storm. The space becomes a sanctuary of confrontation.
This work, like much of Rain Bordo’s art, does not offer peace. It offers presence. It demands that we stand before it and feel. In a world where numbness often masquerades as calm, this painting is a scream of aliveness—fragmented, furious, and, paradoxically, full of grace.
Rain Bordo 