Crowded Mutability in the Unstable
by Josep Barnadas
Intersticio is pleased to present ‘Crowded Mutability in the Unstable’ an online exhibition of new drawings by Josep Barnadas.
Josep Barnadas (Barcelona, 1996) merges drawing, sculpture, performance and theatre in his creative process. Understanding the blank page as an empty stage, he creates scenes of romance, confusion, silence and, sometimes, betrayal. His drawings approach narrative from a tragicomical point of view, exploring the visual language of the Theater of the Absurd.
In this new serie ‘Crowded Mutability in the Unstable’, Barnadas proposes images of desire and queer potentiality, creating characters that, even eternally frozen, seem to always be moving towards an infinite future, that remains undiscovered. His scenes are drawn from the imaginaries of the choreographies of Pina Bausch and Dimitris Papaiannou, Dante’s Divine Comedy and Beckett’s Happy Days among others, exploring identity, desire and belonging as transformations in constant movement. We access a latent universe of potentiality, navigating dreams of collectivity, remembering passed worlds and reimagining future to come.
Josep Barnadas graduated in Drawing in 2018 at Camberwell College of Arts, UAL (London).
Crowded Mutability in the Unstable
by Josep Barnadas
There is a void inside me that I need to fill up by talking, but what I say is always off the mark. Off the mark. Either I am a mirror or a hole. I don’t want to be a reflection of others. A hole is empty but it is real. (Hurriedly, nervously opens eyes) What? (turns only head to left) Has anyone arrived? Anyone there? (Anxious) A visit? (Closes eyes) Hush! Let’s not get nervous. Nobody is here. A voice of something already heard, of something already learned is always repeated when I open my mouth to speak. Indistinct and hazy dark place. Indoor or outdoor space. Words are truly of others, but let’s talk as if we were buried under damp earth. It could be a desert, an olive grove, or the plaza of an empty city in northern Spain. The stage slopes downward. Unless we want the horse to wakes us up, the far is much higher than the near. The ground looks like a hard shoulder, and I have trust in its consistency, but it is eating me. (Pause) Can you hear that buzzing sound? I can tell you cruelly have exit attempts of transformation. You can’t guess how much I want to throw myself into the sea now that I feel the water getting closer and closer. Look at my feet, you will see yourself reflected. I am truly becoming a specter. Total-image, which is to say, death in person1. Here is Sadak climbing from a stone to the leading mountain where the waters are. Not even today. I can’t transcribe it. What? Nothing. (Pause) Do you think this is normal for someone like me? Upside down olive branches are suspended at the top giving the feeling of falling or floating. The flies have stopped buzzing. I might be asleep. Everything deep is absurd. A dim light frames the action. The depths of yesterday sound today like a deception, and we must feel ashamed. It seems nighttime and is cold but it doesn’t feel like December. Words are confusing because they lack of precision and accuracy. Now is Spring. So yesterday…what was it, if not Spring? Something I learned, I can’t remember now. Time passes in a strange way. It’s like I can stretch it out, stir it up, and do whatever I want with it. If I think that everything happens quickly, I truly believe it. But quickly…as for what? At the same speed, of course. Trying to correctly define something must be paralyzing. If words feed the transformations of ideas, they must foster doubt. Synonyms are enemies of the speaker and they make us stutter. (Pause) Has anyone arrived? (Turns his head to the right) Is anyone there? No visits? I want something more. Distractions and made-up words encourage the disuse of a language. People haven’t stopped talking to each other. (Manages to stand up. Annotation of movement, paired silence. Change of light to a lighter one) (Voice of a radio announcer) A magnificent sun is shining in this country. Dawn marvelously, letting go absurd winters. No man’s land, were you born somewhere? If you are children of the Earth, defend the Sun that still shines because there isn’t a body which doesn’t shine in the light. At your side, you will tell him. (Pause) We already know that we do not all share the same opinions. It is purely a geographical problem. You are there and I am here. No, no, no…it can’t be…what can’t be? The more you fight, the more is going to pull you in. Please help, I am drowning. (Noise of water entering the character’s mouth) Help? I don’t want to have sex with strangers. The Dead! (opening their eyes a lot). The dead, and every day feels like an open (wide eyes open) and close (closes eyes) of eyes. Another day that, suddenly, without realizing, a heart beats differently. The day dawns, and although this noise gets magnified, it helps me speak. Speaking four different languages involves the speaker to stop speaking their mother tongue well. This should be the difference between different and distinct. Exactly. Don’t you think everyone feels the same? Consciousness, conscience, conscience, conscience…While still losing their ideas of metamorphosis. Have you found a movement? Changing, variant and mutable bodies to be truthful to all that change. Accept to stop thinking what has been thought a while ago. Be a faithful unattached host. But for that we should have a sense of control.