[español] EL MUNDO PERFECTO

Fito Dante era uno de los artistas más populares de la ciudad. Sus pinturas – que se caracterizaban por ser paisajes urbanos y arquitectónicos repletos de minuciosos detalles – se vendían cada una por miles de dólares, y cada vez más y más tenía gran cantidad de encargos de celebridades, galerías y coleccionistas. Es por esta razón que me consideré afortunado cuando me acogió como su pupilo, teniendo en cuenta que, ante tanta demanda y poco tiempo, Fito había dejado de dar clases y tutorías. De alguna manera me consideraba “el heredero”.

Yo solía visitarlo casi a diario, incluso algunos fines de semana, y lo acompañaba a inauguraciones, eventos y subastas, era una especie de “asistente personal”, ya que le llevaba algunas agendas, le recordaba fechas y compromisos, compraba pinturas, lienzos y otras herramientas, y hasta llamaba el Uber y encargaba la comida china o pizza cuando tocaba la hora de almuerzo.

Ahora bien, aunque Fito Dante tenía una gran proyección internacional, se negaba a viajar al extranjero, teniendo multitud de invitaciones a bienales, exposiciones y hasta inauguraciones de exposiciones propias. En los cuatro años que estuve enormemente involucrado con su vida, nunca viajó. Siempre prefería dedicarse a pintar en su taller o en los jardines de su casa, visitaba de vez en cuando galerías y museos locales, y los viernes o sábados en la noche, podía ser visto en bares bohemios y en alguno que otro prostíbulo vintage. Y hasta esa esporádica rutina cambió.

Los últimos meses Dante no salía de su mansión, ya no asistía a eventos de la ciudad ni aceptaba encargos de trabajo, incluso su taller se encontraba inactivo y tenía varias obras a medio camino. “Anula todo” fue una de sus últimas órdenes. En los círculos del arte se rumoreaba que estaba enfermo, o que había enloquecido, pero yo le conocía bien y nada de aquello era cierto. Yo sabía que estaba en algo grande.

Aquella mañana de julio llegué casi en la madrugada a solicitud suya de urgencia, en el camino temí que algo malo había ocurrido, pero era todo lo contrario. Lo conseguí con una gran sonrisa, y para mi sorpresa, perfectamente afeitado y aseado, incluso con un atuendo de estreno que no le conocía. Lo acompañé escaleras abajo, al sótano, y cruzamos una puerta oculta detrás de su bodega de vinos, era su lugar secreto.
La estancia se encontraba a oscuras, hasta que encendió un juego de grandes reflectores que iluminaron toda la pared frontal, y si, allí estaba, su obra definitiva. “El mundo perfecto” la llamó. Se trataba de un gran mural de 8 x 3 metros de largo y alto, y donde se retrataba un gran lugar fantástico, lleno de estructuras barrocas, edificaciones imposibles y monumentos inimaginables, con tal lujo de detalles y tan gran cantidad de objetos y representaciones que era imposible verlo todo en horas de dedicación.

Aún no salía de mi asombro y admiración cuando su voz dijo “Quedas a cargo de todo, solo te pido, que mantengas mi mundo en secreto”. Fue apenas en un parpadeo de mi parte, mientras examinaba los documentos y el manojo de llaves que había puesto en mis manos, que desapareció ante mí. Creí ver de reojo como se volteaba y encaminaba a su mural, donde se sumergió.

Ahora, cada cuanto bajo en solitario a examinar el mural, y me parece verlo retratado allí, recorriendo los pasillos o largas escaleras o maravillosas estancias de “El mundo perfecto”.

fin

Texto e imágenes originales de @Mostrorobot. Idioma original: español. Traductor: Google Translate. Imágenes creadas utilizando herramientas como Leonardo.ai y Photoshop

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[English] THE PERFECT WORLD

Fito Dante was one of the most popular artists in the city. His paintings – which were characterized as urban and architectural landscapes filled with minute details – each sold for thousands of dollars, and increasingly he had large numbers of commissions from celebrities, galleries and collectors. It is for this reason that I considered myself lucky when he took me in as his pupil, taking into account that, faced with so much demand and little time, Fito had stopped giving classes and tutoring. He somehow considered me “the heir.”

I used to visit him almost daily, even on some weekends, and I accompanied him to inaugurations, events and auctions, I was a kind of “personal assistant”, since I kept some agendas for him, reminded him of dates and commitments, bought paintings, canvases and other tools, and I even called Uber and ordered Chinese food or pizza when it was time for lunch.
Now, although Fito Dante had a great international projection, he refused to travel abroad, receiving many invitations to biennials, exhibitions and even openings of his own exhibitions. In the four years that I was enormously involved with his life, he never traveled. He always preferred to dedicate himself to painting in his studio or in the gardens of his house, he visited local galleries and museums from time to time, and on Friday or Saturday nights, he could be seen in bohemian bars and in the occasional vintage brothel. And even that sporadic routine he changed.

In recent months, Dante did not leave his mansion, he no longer attended city events or accepted work assignments, even his workshop was inactive and he had several works halfway done. “Cancel everything” was one of his last orders. In art circles there were rumors that he was ill, or that he had gone mad, but I knew him well and none of that was true. I knew he was onto something big.

That July morning I arrived almost at dawn at his urgent request. On the way I feared that something bad had happened, but it was quite the opposite. I got him with a big smile, and to my surprise, perfectly shaved and neat, even with a premiere outfit that I didn't know him for. I accompanied him down the stairs, to the basement, and we crossed a hidden door behind his wine cellar, it was his secret place.

The room was dark, until he turned on a set of large reflectors that illuminated the entire front wall, and yes, there it was, his definitive work. “The perfect world” he called it. It was a large mural measuring 8 x 3 meters long and high, and where a great fantastic place was portrayed, full of baroque structures, impossible buildings and unimaginable monuments, with such luxury of details and such a large number of objects and representations that It was impossible to see everything in hours of dedication.

I still hadn't come out of my astonishment and admiration when his voice said, “You're in charge of everything, I only ask that you keep my world a secret.” It was barely the blink of an eye on my part, as I examined the documents and the bunch of keys he had placed in my hands, that he disappeared before me. I thought I saw out of the corner of my eye how he turned and headed towards his mural, where he submerged himself.

Now, every time I go down alone to examine the mural, I think I see it portrayed there, walking through the hallways or long staircases or wonderful rooms of “The Perfect World.”

End

Original text and images by @Mostrorobot. Original language: Spanish. Translator: Google Translate. Images created using tools like Leonardo.ai and Photoshop