Joana Frontera

In a matter of seconds, their outlined eyes, hungry for reciprocal glances, magnetize you. Like wolves in the night, they howl in unison waiting to be seen until dawn, when the masks fall, revealing the hidden faces wrapped in nocturnality and minstrel laughter that still resonate in the memory of a carnival night. Her identity revealed, only a woman with coppery hair remains who holds, enigmatically, a still brand new rose, perhaps the last witness of the beauty that the mystery always contains.

Three portraits of the same identity are sustained under the same archaic, rigid, impassive, forceful smile. The color of the skin between them fades, fading from the golden reflections to the blush of some flushed cheeks, which end up being stained with withered snow. Is this the mask of those who hide for fun or fear? Fear of being oneself, of knowing oneself before oneself and before others, of undressing in a circus of characters disguised as vanity, arrogance and lasciviousness.

This and a thousand other interpretations could concatenate each work of the painter, specialized in the art of a fascinating plastic oratory in which one always ends up entering her lyrical Eden full of symbols and nuances. Her restless soul covers the entire canvas with her own search with colors full of incandescent textures, an eternal forge of questions of an unresolved existence. - By Carmela González-Alorda (Revistart)