This exhibition by Orestes Hernandez, like his entire oeuvre, is an unstable organism that does not seem to fit into any of the semantic territories that seek to give coherence to processes as whimsical as art or life. Faced with the prospect of an argumentative axis capable of dispatching the complexity of the real with a couple of well-argued theses, Orestes contrasts arbitrariness and "distancing", rebelliousness and marginality. What he does, let us say, is to deny the major: the cornerstone of all reasoning of systemic affiliation. This free-wheeling does not mean that Orestes walks in a vacuum; on the contrary, his is a situated work that works marvelously in the field of its specific scenes, what he insists on calling the illusion. "He who is wrong is being deceived by illusion," he says, "and he who is right, too.

Orestes' characters appear before us with no other explanation than their own irrefutable existence. As in dreams, things are just because they are, and that is enough. Now, referring to his pieces, Orestes speaks of totems and skewers, of figuration and abstraction, and one is left with the idea that both images are valid. The forcefulness of his work is not contextual but physical, a conviction in the telluric force of creation. A timeless force, energy that is enough for itself, a perreta, the same tangana that is not of now.

Daleysi Moya