SUMA PINTA (beautiful visions)
ON A RECENT EVENING
in a moment when I was feeling lost, a flash of aqua blue appeared on my favorite desert willow, a misplaced spark of vibrancy that called out the moments of deep purple within the tree’s muted flowers. It reminded me of the blooming palo verde nearby: audacious, irresponsible even, with its use of color.
The desert is defined as a barren landscape. Being here, I experience it as constant burst of color. But this aqua blue, this turquoise, was new. Minutes later, I heard a tap on the sliding door: the bird, who revealed itself to be a blue parakeet, lost in the desert, wandering until it found me.
I am one for omens.
“Don’t overly connect things that don’t need to be connected,” my partner tells me. Dead beetles at my doorstep, a bee smashed into the hood of my car. Two black crows in the middle of my path, leading me to a recently fallen Joshua Tree. I pull a card and it reads, THANATOS — death. I see the Seven of Swords in a dream; days later a tarot reader flips it over, revealing it to me on the side of the road.
Transmutation is often thrust upon us, not something to be called in. Bear witness, not everyone makes it to the other side of the fire. Loss is imminent, hauntingly so. Like melancholy, heartbreak is symphonic: organized, complex, and encompassing. Harmoniously so. Comfort evaporates in the drought, banished further by the rising heat of the desert summer. Life feels more fragile than ever.
But on this afternoon, I have a parakeet sitting in my desert willow. And I have yellow flowers, audaciously yellow, carried by the wind into my cup of water. Tiny beautiful things, blessings at sunset that we didn’t know we deserved. This is short and perhaps that is why it is so beautiful. Perhaps that is why we explode so brightly in color. It is all borrowed time; we are just happy to be here.
SUMA PINTA (beautiful visions). What is life but a glimpse of a flower in the desert? Is it not all just a dream?
On a recent afternoon, I received a text from Beryl.
Beryl,
I thought,
a wisp of a name, how do I know it?
How do we know anything?
And what is there to say when what we hold dear is taken,
like the wings of a blue bird, here and then gone — stolen, misplaced, welcome.
Ripe,
overripe,
spoiled.
A memory that fades away,
until the coming of the next spring.
alex maceda, joshua tree, ca - june 2022
SUMA PINTA (BEAUTIFUL VISIONS)
A new body of work inspired by that which is fleeting, that which exists in between what is real and what is a dream. The collection is a reflection of my ongoing experimentation across mediums and questioning of what we view as representational art. SUMA PINTA (beautiful visions) is painted outside with acrylic paint and natural charcoals (palo santo, copal) on hand-stretched, unprimed canvas on thrifted or hand-assembled stretchers. Any imperfections, dust, or natural elements are intended and part of my sustainably-minded process.