Marchand d'art



Wladimir Guerrero

 By the Poet


Santa Rosa Valley, Unicorn's Lair,

28 April 2022.

Mérida, Venezuela


Each artist, each Poet, seeks to procure his own Mandala, his Aleph, that space where he is suspended in an omniscient way and in which he is neither weak nor strong, only a being in absolute lightness, who finds fullness, contemplation, visualizes the creative act and the spectrum of his work. Inspiration? Maybe. Gift, for me. Beyond ego. The true creator moves forward, steps back, stops. Anything goes for him. He doesn't measure time, or strength, nor does he participate in a fair of grimaces. They are moved by the mill of their faith. An artist seeks his work, to access it. If he has visualized it clearly, in his sleep or in his waking hours, he goes for it. Nothing stops him. He does not think about the critics or the public. Painters like Cézanne, Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Odilón Redón, Gauguin, among many others of different tendencies, from all times and places, belong to this lineage. Here we have artists such as Macario Colombo, Antonio Dagnino, Guillermo Besembel, Francisco Grisolía, El Conde Bleu, Leonardo Arellano, Héctor Vásquez, Luis Altuve, Ramón Meza, Félix Rey, Rodolfo "Chino" Urdaneta, Wladimir Guerrero, among so many others that the unjust memory of an ageing man does not manage to glimpse.


Regarding the latter, he is a young man born in Mérida, Venezuela, on 15 May 1974, whom I see plunging his oar with force into the river of this fragile and dubious scenario we inhabit. His painting - preferably in large format - spares no resources in order to impose itself. In spite of the great crisis that artists are going through to provide themselves with materials, Wladimir manages to get hold of them, to invest them without waste or shyness in a composition that reveals that inner strength, confronts the canons, desacralizes the symbolic figures, moves the forms, nervously harmonizes the colors, golds, reds, darks, with remarkable energy, the strokes; and poses them in a mystical atmosphere, which fights in itself with something that assaults it. This leads him to accept the figure of a blind Jesus, humiliated and pained to the extreme. Hence, we see a Christ without eyes, who concentrates his gaze more on the interior, a confused spirit, lacking in serenity. The world has lost its balance to the point that the beings of patience, love, wisdom, silence and calm have ended up fighting their inner battles. A blind, weeping Jesus tells us everything. Humanity is not that dawn that they said would awaken with science and for which artists such as the expressionists immediately fell in love and who soon abandoned the boat of such an illusion; now it is an abyss without a bridge, the beautiful aquamala that poisons our passage through the earth. A family of executioner’s   

He is Wladimir, a great reader, a lover of literature, an avid flirter, who seeks his own discourse, his own space, a memoirist, conversationalist, daring, gentle, discursive, feverish; we talk about so many things to the point that many are still pending, including the unmissable visit to the workshop.


The series of figures around Doctor José Gregorio Hernández, a beautiful reference of what a noble, generous, pious soul is, devoted body and soul to heal his fellow man; and the figures of Jesus Christ, are moving, amazing, both for their agile, nervous stroke, and for their large format, which allows him to express himself, to give vent to his impetus; In a dreamlike, spectral atmosphere, as in the heroes, devitalized, disjointed, with an air of defeat, devoid of grace; nevertheless, the work boasts a drawing, a color, a composition that is self-regulating, does not descend into chaos, but traps us and calls us to look at it, to penetrate it with the same force. The gaze will return, to meet the art, and Wladimir's work will be there. Staring, fixedly, at the blind Christ.



Santa Rosa Valley, Unicorn's Lair,

28 April 2022. Mérida, Venezuela