A stain crosses the sky. There are hundreds of birds; they move together, they are a traveling cloud. The track of a rushing storm. They are an opaque lake that spreads out, the reflection of the mountain on which they levitate. They are a landscape, they are thousands of freckles, then they are nothing. At times, they become birds again. The mind travels in the forms and the languages ​​are others. And the stain goes away. The thousands of birds become one by disappearing. A trace remains in the eye, the text that was written in heaven was a poem that is barely deciphered.
The languages ​​of the organic cannot be read with other words. The textures, volumes, densities and stains that permeate our environment are not random: they are guided by the pulsations of chaos, an absurd and logical rule at the same time. The artist Andrea Bores Chemor is a reader of the natural. She precisely understands the grammar of the landscape, the harmonic cadences that build what surrounds us. Her exhibition Tierra Nacida Sombra is a testament to the memory of materials, where Andrea exists as an alchemist capturing a world of moving particles.

Through noble elements such as water, coal and earth, she captures landscapes that play with subjectivity and the adaptation of the eye: an image that is a river, but also a vein, next to a mountain that could also be a rock in a puddle A humidity in an old building that is also the stain on the edge of a pot and the stain on the back of a hand. The repetition of these patterns is what moves Andrea to become a guide to natural behaviors. And that is what makes her so generous in her painting: letting in a second creative will: the natural pulse of the minerals. With this, she becomes an artist who does not submit to nature, but rather presents it from the least obvious places. Through her paintings, Andrea invites fascination with these behaviors that resize the scales of natural patterns. His pieces are landscapes painted with landscape.
The paintings that make up Tierra Nacida Sombra speak with intuition. Squinting your eyes, you see an oil spill that later becomes the dregs after finishing a coffee, or the constellation of lentils that have fallen in a kitchen. It is reminiscent of the plants that float below a juniper and the shapes of those NASA photos, which are so similar to the slopes of a hill dried up by summer. Or the bruise on the battered thigh, which looks like the jam on the morning bread, and intuition does not decide, because it is all at the same time but it is also just a stain, or many, and none. And the stain is lost, and the reading ends, because when memory falls silent, what we were looking at was always, in reality, a painting.