EL MUSEO SECRETO - Illán Argüello
8 November - 8 December
THE SECRET MUSEUM
Almost any city guide inform us of the existence of some secret museum, hidden places far off from the avalanche of tourists that hide rare pieces in its dusty shelves and begging for the eye of a spectator to make them re-live. Because the museum, the place in which we conserve things we would like to see again, has a talent for anything but secrecy.
But, what are those shoe boxes filled with photographs and objects which many if not small museums tend to be summed up by? An old man shows his scars as the map of his life, he knows almost everything about each one of them, size, texture and variations in time, as the conservators in regard to the works they keep in their galleries. There are those who keep a museum of the best sunsets of their lives, of their unforgettable kisses, of the most beautiful shades of blue, feeling no need to see them set in frames and hung in a public place. There are those who collect conversations never to be told to anyone and letters that were never written. They know there will be no punctilious guards or annoying children there, just silence and the evening fog. Some adore museums and others run from them as crazy.
And as for the others, the real ones –let’s say the Prado, the Louvre, MoMA, any Natural History museum – enclose many others within them depending on the way that each one of us select and reject the works we see as we pass by. There are pieces that does not draw our attention and that end up being invisible, and others that by appearing in all the pools end up being the icons of our civilisation.
Then there is each painting, that starts off in the store of ideas and sensations that is the head of the painter and in the doubts, the regrets and cross-roads he has collected while he painted it, a museum of small flashes only known by the creator. And the spectator keeps another set of experiences while looking at it, from liking to rejection, from pure grey to burning red, from roughness to softness, with all the associations and memories brought by each new neuronal connection, so that no two paintings are alike just as no two visions are alike.
The museum – via Latin and Greek – is the home of the muses, and we can’t even agree on that: each one has theirs own.
Ángel Mateo Charris