Where is the line between creativity and madness?

Where are the boundaries?

Who makes the decision?

Who draws the line?

Orfeo is the Greek mythological figure, the singer in pain, distressed, and the one that in the most anguished desolation decides to go down to the realm of the dead to rescue his beloved wife, Eurydice. She is dead because of the bite of a snake, and Jupiter has established the conditions and trials as the price to descend. Orpheus overcomes them heroically and courageously; getting back alive from the dead, where no mortal had ever returned.

Like Orpheus, I, an artist, a lunatic, a painter, a crazy, a hero, a bipolar… Not fearlessly, I would like to penetrate into the abyss of madness; to cross the unfathomable world of the mysteries of the mind, of images, of pain, os fear; to immerse myself in the unreal; to leap into the inscrutable; to open the door of the imagined experience leaving the lived experience behind.

I would like to discover the inner recesses of the mind. As a thief, I would like to steal from its cryptical creativity and to decipher its nonsense, its message; to access the enigmas buried in the remotest places; to destroy and rebuild the rational; to talk to madness and to redirect it; to unmask vanities, passions, dreams, and hallucinations; to insert and remove; to find the voices that never stop; to caress my fears; to dance with my soul; to shape the suffering, the instinct, the desire, the passion, the strangeness, and my experiences.

Being able to flee afterwards, returning triumphantly as the hero from the dead; to escape and return from the other side, from the unfathomable journey between confused sensations where the mysterious, the melancholy, the longing, the despair, the chance, the beauty, the dreamworld, the hallucination, the chaos, the madness, the lights and the shadows: all of them reveal their power and hold you back.

I would like to convey all of this to a new reality, to find a way out of the psychotic experience, to build a silver bridge, to cross it, to escape from the abyss, unscathed, and to recognize myself again.

To discover the creative nature.

It is there, on the dark side, where the expressive wealth and the creative power are unlimited.

It is the suspension of the self, the loneliness, the dispossession of oneself, without a source point, unlimited, endless; it is the confusion of not knowing who you really are, where you are, and being lost you end up not knowing your place, unable to recognize the present, past, and future. You lose track of time; there is no now, and you are just left with a confusing moment.

This romantic perspective should not make us forget that mental illness deserves and should be treated with a rigorous seriousness.

As we know, some of those mentally ill have given rise to works of infinite creativity and huge plastic richness; the brain is inscrutable, there are no limits.

But unlike the insane persona, an artist works according to rationality and whatever concept he or she wants to express; there is invariably a person who thinks and decides. Art needs criticism and subjectivity. Otherwise we would effectively stand before a real madness.

It is the artist the one who must push the boundaries by investigating, questioning, and taking risks to carry out its works.


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