Unique time traveler, Antonio Luquín creates landscapes with hyperrealist virtuosity in which zeppelin, rusty ships and planes of past technologies appear. The buildings are in ruins and around them grows weed. In that wasteland everything already happened. Pushed by the wind, world maps appear, scale models of what is over. We are beyond the apocalypse, but in a disturbing way we see traces of the present. The painter imagines the future we will be.
A picture shows a ship stranded. This emblem of loneliness is reinforced with suitcases that appear in foreground. Where are the people who lost their luggage? In another scene, a plane throws books that don't seem to have a recipient.
In these fables of abandonment, buildings are captured with disturbing accuracy. We know them because they exist in our present. There are city walls, the fountain in the roundabout of Mixcoac, the towers, already empty, of what we now call "progress." The artist gives new meaning to urban environment. In its time without time, several epochs intersect. The clock has stopped: the barren places are airplane cemeteries of the early twentieth century and the skyscrapers of postmodernism look equally old.
Luquín's paintings captivate by the accuracy of lines and the dreamlike beauty of composition, but also because they are acts of resistance. The painter achieves a spell: it records and denies the deterioration. Technology has failed, but trees are still standing. Incessantly, nature continues its work. The fact that it can be portrayed shows not everything is devastation. There are still witnesses.
What role does the viewer play? Antonio Luquín compromises our gaze. It makes us unusual survivors of a land that seemed lost and demands an answer.
Plants grow in silence, waiting for us to do something.