THIS IS NOT FINE DINING
VALENCIA
The paintings from this exhibition are for sale on the website: sinse.gallery
Years have passed sharing great conversations about art and its commitments in its different cultures and means of expression, father and son, debating with passion and verve about existential questions as if our lives depended on it. From a young age, I was lucky to be considered an equal at the dinner table, escaping the repetitive fried potatoes and often sharing the "grown-ups'" menu; although I also used the dining room as a battlefield, a place where I confronted the one who fed me, power games in which often I disliked something simply because I was angry. I quickly understood that "I like it" or "I don't like it" is not as directly related as I thought to "good" or "bad," but rather that my tastes were born from the human relationships surrounding it. With time, I observed that much more is hidden here, that these relationships are full of "give and take," and that from that everyday battlefield, where so many tears were shed, my tastes were born...my victories and my defeats. The aesthetics, and the tastes that govern me, are then the conclusion of all these relationships, consolidated in my memory.
“This is not fine dining” is an exhibition born from the need to question a cliché. There are many stories in the world of gastronomy that deserve to be told, but I find it necessary to emphasize that the history of cuisine, like that of art, has always been instrumentalized by the dominant culture, established by those who held power. The different aesthetics or trends are the conclusion, among other things, of the social relations of the time and their mannerisms, because “the king likes this, and consequently, so does the entire court.”
It was important for me to understand that this instrumentalization is a consequence of the same power games that took place at my family's table, but among adults in high-class places. I am not trying to judge it here, I only point out the fact that the development of painting, like that of dance, music, or cuisine, has been calibrated to the expectations of clients, not artists. Therefore, few are the arts, or artists, that have freed themselves from the need to be validated, to assume the subversive role of sharing their most intimate madness, with all the flavors it implies. For purely economic reasons, artists usually remain faithful to the demands of the external eye, corseted in outdated structures. Until not so long ago, "art" served only to reproduce idealized images of high society, staging its narratives and creating a very precise distinction between the culture or folklore of the people—with their fascinating songs, dances, and grandmother's recipes—and the music, dances, and other ornaments of "high society." A way to sublimate and differentiate power from the common people, and incidentally, to show the value of one's own culture as an identifying signature.
What does this have to do with “fine dining”?
“This is not fine dining” is an exhibition born from the need to question a cliché. There are many stories in the world of gastronomy that deserve to be told, but I find it necessary to emphasize that the history of cuisine, like that of art, has always been instrumentalized by the dominant culture, established by those who held power. The different aesthetics or trends are the conclusion, among other things, of the social relations of the time and their mannerisms, because “the king likes this, and consequently, so does the entire court.”
It was important for me to understand that this instrumentalization is a consequence of the same power games that took place at my family's table, but among adults in high-class places. I am not trying to judge it here, I only point out the fact that the development of painting, like that of dance, music, or cuisine, has been calibrated to the expectations of clients, not artists. Therefore, few are the arts, or artists, that have freed themselves from the need to be validated, to assume the subversive role of sharing their most intimate madness, with all the flavors it implies. For purely economic reasons, artists usually remain faithful to the demands of the external eye, corseted in outdated structures. Until not so long ago, "art" served only to reproduce idealized images of high society, staging its narratives and creating a very precise distinction between the culture or folklore of the people—with their fascinating songs, dances, and grandmother's recipes—and the music, dances, and other ornaments of "high society." A way to sublimate and differentiate power from the common people, and incidentally, to show the value of one's own culture as an identifying signature.
“This is not fine dining“ proposes a critique of forced mannerism that has nothing to do with food, quality, or the sincerity of the gesture. It is an open provocation that tries to very clearly differentiate substance from form. “Fine dining” is the ostentation of form, of the container and not the content. It has nothing to do with the free and unbridled creativity of so many artists fascinated by their own discoveries who find their limits and scribble with them. The pursuit I share with my father, Bernd, is the sincerity of the spontaneous gesture; the proposition of truly innovative experiences; it is to build contexts fertile for creativity, free from all the noise that prevents paying attention to the artist's experience.
Many restaurants, many artists dedicate a large part of their energy to building the container, the form, the concept, the idea, and forget to fill it with experiences, adventures, passion, obsessions, follies. I understand the difficulty of losing control, of feeling fragile, of showing vulnerability, of being afraid, of falling, but only there are the treasures we so desperately seek found, the nuggets that make art a "real" path.
We all know that the great French chefs historically served the nobility, and when heads rolled, they were left jobless and had to reinvent themselves, filling cities with high-level cuisines at the service of what would then be their new clients, the bourgeoisie.
We must not forget that the Michelin guide was literally invented to "burn rubber," a way to consume the rubber of the famous tire company. In this original way, all those Parisians were encouraged to travel who, being great gourmets and gourmands, suffered from the typical centralism of large cities, doubting that anything of value existed beyond the limits of their city.
We all know that the great French chefs historically served the nobility, and when heads rolled, they were left jobless and had to reinvent themselves, filling cities with high-level cuisines at the service of what would then be their new clients, the bourgeoisie.
We must not forget that the Michelin guide was literally invented to "burn rubber," a way to consume the rubber of the famous tire company. In this original way, all those Parisians were encouraged to travel who, being great gourmets and gourmands, suffered from the typical centralism of large cities, doubting that anything of value existed beyond the limits of their city.