Nathalie Hernández Sánchez
Nathalie Hernández Sánchez
Nathalie Hernández is a Fine Artist from the Bogota Superior Academy for the Arts, she is 37 years old.
Her artistic endeavors started at 4 years old, at that age she was already combining tex-tures and colors in creative ways, designing clothes for her toys.
She had the chance to explore different artistic mediums, and she always had an powerful connection with matter, her first pieces were installations with elements such as water and an strong touch of shadows.
This was made into videos that were the starting point to find the way to that to which she’s most passionate about, and that’s how she discovered screen printing, almost at the same time she was finishing her college career.
Since then she has traveled a road of creation that has allowed her to show her deepest feelings through lines, blots, and energetic compositions.
Each work is the result of an internal movement, mixing her animal essence with the brightness of her traces, to finally let feelings, emotions and unknown shapes explode, with repetition reinforcing everything, playing the most important role.
Drafting has been consolidated as the tool by excellence through which we can follow our thought processes. Since remote times —when our forefathers left their trails on hid-den caves—tracing has became a labor that has allowed humanity to reach the level of cognitive development in which is now.
The human hand—and the pencil, brush, or switchblade that it might be holding—became one of the most important extensions for the brain, and thanks to the connection between the aforementioned limb and the mysterious electrical currents generated insi-de of the cranium that flow through slim nervous terminations, it is possible for us to glimpse that which otherwise might be hidden inside humanity’s cranial vaults.
My work can be understood as a series of trails originated from internal turbulences, an obsessive search, relentless, pleasurable and painful, a pursuit of shapes that seem to escape constantly, and that are not fixed and will never be at any moment at all.
Production then becomes a ritual, an act of contrition, a series of absurd performances whose meaning is not apparent at first sight, and only by going deep into the tangle of blots, lines, and all kinds of intermediate states between them, one might be able to glimpse the mere tip of the iceberg.
The rest can only be felt or sensed.
To ensnare and fathom such entities it is necessary to dive into transcendental states, go into trances in which the arm and the hand seem to move independently from the rest of the body, connected to those cavernous depths where few seldom tread, in search of that whose name cannot be pronounced.
And yet, such ghosts try to escape, explode and fill the world with the vestiges of their violent deaths.
These mutant entities that I print constantly, they exist in the deepest recesses on my mind, on the gut, on my cave filled with buffaloes and venuses that populate my nightma-res, beyond the scope of words, and are impossible to capture and imprison with the li-nearity of written language.
To trace, to smear, to speak that language of violences and tendernesses, which originate from primal emotions that in most of the cases overwhelm me, becomes one of the few instruments of salvation with which my overcharged mind counts to survive in this tsunami of feelings that can sometimes drown the whole world.
The search of interactions and compositions between lines, colors, blots and other words of the visual language becomes some sort of hunt in which the captured specimens, unearthed from the deepest corners of the brain, and trapped in a zoo of creatures, unmoving but alive, may become mirrors where the brain of whomever contemplates could be reflected, fragmented, and/or reconstituted.