Fractura/Paisagem II 1982

This serene, almost Rothko-esque, abstraction of a landscape by Eduardo Nery seems to have been built up with thin layers of paint, maybe acrylics, in a dance of intuition and control. I can imagine Nery, a Portuguese artist, standing back, squinting, maybe muttering to himself, deciding where to add the next layer of blue. Those blues! They're not just colors; they're moods, atmospheres, the kind of light you get just before a storm rolls in, or maybe a memory of the sea. The subtle shift from dark to light feels like breathing, expanding and contracting. Then, bam! That crisp, white line slicing through the middle. It’s so deliberate. A graphic interruption that asks, ‘Are we looking at a landscape, or are we seeing something else entirely?’ It reminds me of the hard-edged paintings from the sixties, but with a softer touch, a whisper instead of a shout. It's like Nery is in a conversation with all those painters, riffing on their ideas, but making something that’s all his own.