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Harold
Dessalines or Colours Dreams
Exposed to
the difficulties of a process wich had beome less pretentious,
less fadish with tourist curios, more demanding with regard to
formalism, the latest generation of Haitian artists, those of
the nineteen nineties, has been, more than the others, animated
by a determination for more openness and renewal, rupturing at
times brutally with a past to wich a return would be impossible,
a past in wich the details seemed immovable. The discussions were
centered at first on the formalism "Ecole de la Beaute"
and how to get away from it. And in response, the attraction to
an intellectual Surrealisme, that of Photorealism, or something
geometrically abstract or informal-and why not? "Installations".
Admittedly
there were uncertainties, rejections and steps backward. And,
conversions. For the moment, the "Installations" to
Haitians public seemed artificial. The abstract was resented as
being alien to the Haitian mentality. Before accepting it, a long
road had to be traveled. Therefore, Surrealisme and Photorealism
were here to stay.
Where is
Harold Dessalines placed? He is certainly not one of those, who
in order to gain attention, throws color for better or worse on
the canvas resulting in compositions wich are more or less doubtful.
Neither is he among those who believes in an exact and objective
portrayal of an object. Who lets himself be tempted by a photographic
vision. He is not in favor so to speak of any reproduction too
faithful, without the aspect of soul and without soul.
In the begening,
everything seemed oriented towards Photorealism and this movement
seemed promising. The reception of its vision, the precision and
distinctness of its lines wich permitted it to seize and express
faithfully the finest detail, gave the images an astonishing resemblance
but not without a certain mistery. Already also, the poetry of
its compositions of color, contradicted the quest for the real,
giving to its style a particular accent and proposed a world wich
was more dreamlike than perceived.
Photorealism
was at a stage where it was rapidly moving beyond the horizons.
Its preocupations where other ones, wich assumed the real only
to transcend it, broke with the limitations of the true-to-life
and realized the weird. It lingered on shaping and finishing the
simple but audacious still lifes in the making the symbols question
and understand. As much as possible, his obscure landscapes are
bathed in an unreal light, wich borders on the fairy-like. And
everywhere, there is a disquieting silence, woven of the unspoken.
The treatment
of objects, its sense of what is right, the sumptuousness of colors,
had not gone unnoticed among the Formalist. But here again, the
intentions were different. There was an internal nervousness wich
preceded and justified the explosions and concentrated at times
in voluntary smudges of color. And one sensed immediately that
the ample play of forms was only a lure to keep us outside of
the brutality of the dreams and to divert us from the real questions.
The more it advanced the more it elsewhere failed at holding the
silences.
As unobstrusive
as they are, the strangeness of the still-lifes is inescapable.
The assorted objects gathered together on a table, or in the form
of a cross. Objects wich often changed meaning when not in the
context of nature. The gourde became a flower pot and the flower
a flame of a candlestick. What role did the newspapers play? Certainly
not to inform us or remind us. Everything seems impregnated wich
savage mysticism moving sometimes towards an esoteriscism within
a complete ambiguity of all the chosen elements.
This ambiguity
plunges us to face ourselves, to the side of the mystery of ourselves.
And the silence becomes a persistent murmur in the deepest of
the night. Without hope of dawn. And slowly facing this work of
an exceptional tecnical mastery, of a rare poetic power, we seem
penetrated by the anguish of an entire generation wich learned
to know the falseness of its certainties and the inanity of its
hopes.
~Michel
Philippe Lerebours
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