Okay. I walked in here ready to be unimpressed.
Another abstract painting behind glass like it’s the crown jewels? Please. The whole setup screams “we know this is important, stand back and respect it.” The theatrical spotlight duo, the curved black vitrine, the silhouettes of gallery people doing their best I understand art poses in the background — it’s almost too much.
And then I actually looked at the painting.
♥️
Damn it, Mateo.
The canvas is tall, vertical, almost claustrophobic in its density — and it erupts. Reds and oranges crash into each other like a city on fire, crosshatched lines cutting through like someone tried to map chaos and gave up halfway through. There’s green in there, cool blues fighting for air beneath the wreckage, and then — those white circles.
Those looping, imperfect rings scattered vertically like they’re floating up through the destruction. Or falling. You decide. They’re the thing that stops you. Raw, almost childlike in their gesture, but they anchor the entire composition. Without them it’s noise. With them it’s a conversation.
The glass enclosure is doing something interesting too — it creates distance but also frames your looking. You’re not just viewing art, you’re viewing the act of viewing art. The reflections, the other visitors ghosting in the background — it becomes layered, almost cinematic.
Here’s my honest problem with it: I hate that it worked on me.
I came in skeptical and I’m leaving thinking about texture, about how paint can feel like screaming and breathing at the same time. About how those circles might be the only calm things Mateo trusted himself to make.
And yeah — I’m going to try painting. Not because I think I’ll get anywhere close to this. But because this thing made me want to make a mess and see what survives it.
That’s what good art does. It’s contagious.
🌻
Rain Bordo 