Lidia Masllorens

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Lídia Masllorens holds a degree in Fine Arts from the University of Barcelona in the specialty of painting. She has also been trained in photography, sculpture and engraving.

She began exhibiting in art spaces of the Girona counties, such as the local spaces of Caldes de Malavella and Cassà de la Selva; and also in Galeria Nostrart, Tomàs de Lorenzana Culture House and the Valvi Foundation, in the city of Girona.
In 2013, she was awarded with the Painting Prize of the Fundació Vila Casas, which opened the doors to professionalization with Miquel Alzueta Gallery representing her work.
In 2016, she exhibited for the first time in Paris – at the Arcturus Gallery – and also made her solo debut at the LA Art Show, Los Angeles.
In 2017 she had a solo show in Denmark – at the Galerie Wolfsen-.
In 2018, she exhibited at the Miquel Alzueta Gallery in Barcelona, ​​at Arcturus Gallery in Paris and also twice in Japan: individually, at The Gallery, in Takamiya – Hikone; and collectively, at the Caso-Contemporary Art Center in Osaka.

In 2019, she has exhibited solo in Antwerp, at Leonhard’s Gallery and in Barcelona, at Fundació Vila Casas.

Her paintings have also been exhibited in numerous art fairs in Europe (Art Madrid, Art París, Antica Namur, Brussels Fine Art, Kunst Rai Amsterdam, Scope Basel…) and in the USA ( Art Miami, LA Art Show, SOFA Chicago, Art On Paper New York, Art Hamptons New YorK, Art on paper New York…)

Currently, Masllorens persists in her research of portraying headshots at her workshop in Cassà de la Selva, near Girona, in Catalonia.

About

Look, search, find

Get up. Have a coffee to know that the world is warm when my hands hold the cup. Walk slowly without stopping: hands in my pockets and heart beating slowly. Arrive at the workshop. Open the front door with a key and a sharp kick with my foot. Close it and open another. Enter the workshop: towering horses made of iron, asbestos and polystyrene sheets: attempts to isolate what cannot be isolated. Step forward, walk towards 117 the heater and light it. Check if there are enough pellets. Add more, if necessary. Go to the desk, turn on the computer. Check my email: warm up my fingers; check Instagram: warm up my heart. Get changed: pyjama bottoms, thick socks, warm jumper. See the old Barceló in the background. Look around. See the work from three days ago. Look at it again, out of the corner of my eye. Move towards to another from two days ago. Touch it. Check if it is dry. Lift it off the floor, once piece at a time: one, two, three, four, five and six. Load the stapler. Staple it on the board, piece by piece: one, two, three, four, five and six. Step backwards. Look at it. And again. Approach it, then step back from it. Forward and backward. Look and look again. Think. Half close my eyes, focus on the painting once again. Focus on one point. Stay calm for a moment. Look at it all again, with my mind. Become engrossed, from zero to infinity. That is enough!

Turn on the radio to clear my mind. In the noise I find redemption from my doubts. Go to the ream of paper. Pick up the sheets. Cut them in the cutter. Pick up the stapler. Staple the papers on the board at the back of the workshop. In the meantime, think. Work mechanically and think. Place the plastic on the paper. Turn on the projector to show the lines. Trace the lines of a face. Find the lines of an eye, the lips, a nostril. Stand back and look. Return to the chin. Draw it. Step out of myself, one step further so the same thing as always does not happen. Fearless. Take off the plastic and put it on the floor. Staple it on the floor, on the wooden support. Return to the paper and look for the darkened areas. Search.

118 Subtle greys, diluted blacks. Discoloured whites. Shining. Try to find the missing link in the chain. Look at the white and the black and search beyond it. Find paths for merging. Half close my eyes and look from the chair. And look again. Search. Decompose and recompose with my gaze. Leave my comfort zone, of the blackness. Open up to the colour. Imagine it. Touch up a shade near one eye. Make it calmer. Or stronger, if required.

Go to the fridge and drink some juice. Sit down and look at nothing. Ponder about change. The shape. The colour. Seek the synthesis, the border of the line. Figure and abstraction. See it yet not achieve it. Try and achieve the minimum in order to express the maximum. Remove and replace. Remove. Maximalist minimalism. From nothing to everything. And the opposite. Eat a sandwich to keep going. Return to the plastic. Prepare cloths and brooms. And pots of black. And colour. Wet. Stretch the painting. Draw the hair on the plastic with an emphatic gesture of my body. On the fine lines of the forehead. On the cheeks. On the delicate neck. On the eyes, that fade. Stroke over it with the old broom, create white spaces. Stand back and observe. Return with the cloth which dirties, and cleans. Repeat the same action time and time again. Know in your mind where you want to go but not always able to make it happen technically. Know what you want but not always able to solve it… Be alert and see the path. Manage to detach yourself from what is unnecessary.

Return to the paper. Wet it with splashes of water. Remove a piece of paper and stretch it out, like laundry, over the space in the plastic where 119 it needs to be. Lovingly and delicately. Once, twice, three, four, five and six times. A religious communion: paper, paint and plastic. And commend oneself to the alchemy like someone commends themselves to a saint. Or to the chemistry. Or to chance… Turn off the radio. Put out the heater. Clean the brushes, wash my hands. Breathe deeply to retune body and mind. Get changed. Open a door and close it. Open the front door and close it. Six hours later return to the street. Stroll towards the Coma, Llet street and Firal.

And three days later, find some panting lips, some eyes with a sparkle of restlessness, sweetness, happiness… Discover life in the paper.

Pitu Basart for Lidia Maslloren’s Vila Casas Solo Exhibition Catalogue.

 

Versión En Español del Ensayo de Pitu Basart sobre la Exposición Individual de Lidia Masllorens en La Fundación Vilacasas

Mirar, buscar, encontrar

Levantarme. Tomar un café con leche para saber que el mundo es cálido cuando las manos abrazan el vaso. Caminar lentamente y sin parar: las manos en los bolsillos, el corazón a pocas pulsaciones. Llegar al taller. Abrir la puerta exterior con llave y fuerte puntapié. Cerrarla y abrir otra. Entrar en la nave. Altísimos caballos de hierro, uralita y planchas de porexpan: intentos de aislamiento de lo inaislable. Patalear contra el suelo, andar hasta la estufa y encenderla. Comprobar si quedan pellets. Añadir, si es necesario. Ir hasta la mesa, conectar el ordenador. Consultar el correo: calentamiento de dedos; consultar Instagram: calentamiento de corazón. Cambiarme: pantalón de pijama, calcetines gruesos, jersey afelpado. Mirar el viejo Barceló del fondo. Girar la vista.

110 Mirar la pieza de hace tres días. Volver a mirarla, más de refilón. Acercarme a la de antes de ayer. Tocarla. Comprobar que está seca. Levantarla del suelo pieza por pieza. Una, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco y seis. Cargar la grapadora. Graparla al tablero, pieza por pieza: una, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco y seis. Alejarme. Mirarla. Volver a mirarla. Acercarme; alejarme. Ir y volver. Mirar y mirar. Pensar. Entornar los ojos, enfocar el cuadro otra vez. Pararme en un punto. Quedarme quieta un instante. Volver a mirarlo todo otra vez, con el pensamiento. Adaptarme, del cero al infinito. ¡Basta!

Encender la radio para tener la mente en blanco. Encontrar en el ruido la redención de las dudas. Ir a la resma. Coger los papeles. Cortarlos con el cúter. Coger la grapadora. Grapar los papeles al tablero del fondo. Mientras tanto, pensar.
Trabajar mecánicamente y pensar. Poner el plástico encima del papel. Encender el proyector para marcar los límites. Recorrer la frontera de una cara. Encontrar los confines de un ojo, de los labios, de una narina. Apartarme y mirar. Volver a la barbilla. Insinuarla. Salir de mí misma, dar un paso para que todo no sea lo que resulta siempre. Sin miedo. Desclavar el plástico y extenderlo. Graparlo en el suelo, a la madera de soporte. Volver al papel y buscar las zonas oscuras. Buscar. Grises matizados, negros diluidos. Blancos macilentos. Brillantes. Intentar encontrar el eslabón perdido de la cadena. Mirar el blanco y el negro y buscar más allá. Descubrir caminos de integración. Entornar los ojos desde la butaca estante y mirar. Y volver a hacerlo. Buscar. Descomponer con la mirada y volver a componer. Alejarme de la zona de confort, del negro. Abrirme al color. Imaginarlo. Retocar una sombra cerca de un ojo. Hacerla más plácida. O más firme, si hace falta.

Ir a la nevera y tomar un zumo. Sentarme y no ver nada. Cavilar para cambiar. La forma. El color. Buscar la síntesis, el límite de la línea. Figura y abstracción. Verlo y no conseguirlo. Intentar alcanzar lo mínimo para expresar lo máximo. Quitar y poner. Quitar. Minimalismo maximalista. De la nada al todo. También lo contrario. Comer un bocadillo para resistir. Volver al plástico. Preparar bayetas y escobas. Y botes de negro. Y de color. Untar. Extender la pintura. Con un gesto contundente del cuerpo, marcar el cabello en el plástico. Sobre las líneas finas de la frente. Sobre las mejillas. Sobre el cuello delicado. Sobre los ojos, que desfallecen. Pasar la escoba de espadaña, abrir espacios en blanco. Separarme y observar. Volver con la bayeta que ensucia, que limpia. Repetir la operación una y mil veces. Tener en mente dónde deseas llegar y no siempre poder resolverlo técnicamente. Saber lo que pretendes y no acabar de solucionarlo… Estar atenta y ver el camino. Conseguir desprenderse de lo que sobra.

Volver al papel. Empaparlo con agua a chorros. Desclavar una pieza de papel y extenderla, como en una colada, sobre el espacio de plástico que le corresponde. Amorosa y delicadamente.

Una y dos y tres y cuatro y cinco y seis veces. Religiosa comunión: papel, pintura y plástico. Y encomendarse a la alquimia como quien se encomienda a un santo. O a la química. O al azar… Desconectar la radio. Apagar la estufa. Limpiar los pinceles, lavarme las manos. Respirar profundamente para purificar cuerpo y alma. 111 Cambiarme de ropa. Abrir una puerta y cerrarla. Abrir la exterior y cerrarla. Salir a la calle después de seis horas. Caminar pausadamente hacia la Coma, la calle de la Llet y el Firal.

Y tres días después, descubrir unos labios que jadean, unos ojos con una chispa de inquietud, de dulzura, de alegría… Encontrar la vida en el papel.

 

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