Generales

By Natalia Piedrahita Tamayo, Journalist

David Manzur invented methods to transgress the aesthetic conventions of national plastic arts in the 1960s through art. His skill as a draftsman led him to unravel unique figurations, musical still lifes, women in surreal dresses, and saints enraptured in ecstasy, all harmonizing with natural elements. Recognized for his distinctive style, bridging the realms of the dreamlike and the tangible, Manzur was awarded an honorary doctorate in Arts by the Universidad de Antioquia.

The honorary recognition celebrates the trajectory and contributions of the artist from Caldas to Colombian art. Photo: Communications Office - Alejandra Fernández Uribe.

At 94, artist David Manzur Londoño assures that his identity is mobile. His dedication to artistic creation for over seven decades and his exposure to different schools, styles, and countries have left him with more questions than certainties. This tendency not to claim ownership of absolute truths led him to develop a distinctive artistic signature diverging from the commonplaces of his contemporaries. Admirers of his work often highlight this self-critical capacity.

On February 24, the Universidad de Antioquia awarded him an honorary doctorate in Arts, lauding his significant position in national and global art history and his enduring career spanning over seven decades. The newspaper Alma Mater spoke with the artist about his creative process and the influence of aesthetic experiences on his daily life. 

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Over seven decades of creation, what has changed, and what has remained intact in your artistic exploration?

I am a patchwork of ideas and images. When I lived in Spain amidst war and severe deprivation, with rationed food and numerous shortages, I discovered an authentic Spain reminiscent of the Philippines, which deeply resonated with me. In school, I met artists such as Francisco de Zurbarán and Diego Velázquez, whose works I saw firsthand and now reside in the Prado Museum. All this eventually left a mark on my work. Today, I draw upon and leverage them in my creative processes.

I see many gothic elements in your artwork…

Hans Ungar, a distinguished Austrian bookseller who spent some time in Colombia visiting his daughter, used to reflect on himself, saying, “You are a gothic man.” During the presentation of this recognition, Professor Carlos Arturo Fernandez provided a summary of my life and work. Such events are rare, as my time typically passes in silence. There was a time when I used to talk a lot. Through an art workshop, I used cameras to document 20th-century art, allowing me to communicate with people locally and globally. Gothic art embodies a mysterious phase. Observing the theatrical performance organized by the Faculty of Arts for this event was a cerebral challenge. I struggled to digest it. Beautiful renditions of my work were presented, from Teresa de Avil’s transverberation to a Portrait of a friend with the face of Mona Lisa. As an artist, these interpretations have made me realize that I need a more precise identity; I am still determining my origins and destination. Despite my deep admiration for my town, Neira, which I hold as a beautiful ghost akin to a fairy tale, it remains committed to progress. Perhaps now, Barichara has become more real to me, illuminating my work with its light in a way I could not have achieved elsewhere because it is frozen in history.

In your work, there is a coexistence of temporalities, encompassing the past, the present, and perhaps the future. How do you explain this?

The past holds significant sway. Memory often distorts images, giving rise to monstrous, ghostly, and enigmatic figures—creations that sometimes perplex even me, intricately intertwined with the essence of memory.

I read that you played with the wreckage of a ship you found on the beach as a child. How did this influence your aesthetic experience?

The concept of beauty needs to be more questionable. I remember Alejandro Obregón, the existence of a negative form of beauty. Indeed, if you look at it, art cannot be defined. There are two phenomena that both science and philosophy have struggled to explain: life, which is still a mystery as we have yet to comprehend its origins and mechanisms fully. While there are some insights into cellular processes, the fundamental essence of life eludes us. Philosophy has not been able to say what art is and what beauty is, as evidenced by paintings such as The Ladies of Avignon by Pablo Picasso or the works of Francis Bacon and various surrealist painters. These artworks challenge conventional notions by suggesting that what appears monstrous can possess profound beauty.

It's different from contemplating these ideas at 20 years old. At my age, trash can be beautiful. I recall playing as a child amidst the wreckage of a sunken ship; I fancied myself the owner of that fragment of the vessel washed up on the beach, but I kept the iron oxide, the sunlight at four o'clock in the afternoon, the white foam, and the blue sea that are still in my brain enriching my paintings.

Did your work Ciudades oxidadas emerge from these experiences?

Rusting Cities is about a trip to Antarctica. On the way back to Saint Georgia, I encountered some ruined cities, which left a lasting impression on me. This theme resonates throughout much of my work. During today's performance, I was struck by the depiction of figures succumbing to pain until they collapse. I have this question: everything deteriorates, falls, and dies. Everything is temporary.

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Is the chromatic interplay evident in your figures primarily a result of your focus on color, or does it stem from another aspect of your artistic exploration? 

These are periods that often need a clear understanding of their origins. I am working with blue in all its ranges, ranging from almost gray to vivid sky blues. Memory can reconstruct colors, the environment, and the light. This connotes the figures as if they were from beyond the grave, like ghosts illuminated by an invented light. In this sense, I quote Johannes Vermeer, whose paintings capture a particular angle of light, suggesting that the time should be around 4:00 in the afternoon. Vermeer painted at night, but his memory retained the essence of afternoon light.

What is the significance of the honoris causa awarded to you by the Universidad de Antioquia?

It is a difficult question because I still grapple with this recognition's impact on me. Knowing that I share it with artists and painters of my time, some of whom are minor figures and others prominent, whom I admire, brings me a sense of reassurance. I struggle to find the right words to express my surprise. Still, I know that my state of mind and astonishment will undoubtedly influence Felipe Achury's work, and I will soon donate to them.