Jordi Póquet, the soul of the landscape

I understood, as I looked almost in the darkness, that the light was there, on the canvases, painted and silent. Light of paintings, captured and retained in the bursting enchantment of a perfect, unrepeatable moment, when the invisible impulse is color and clarity. It is the open gaze, the awakened secret of Jordi Poquet when he paints the image of his pilgrimage through the places of Mallorca.

Inland or by the sea, Jordi Poquet savors the air specific to that place and absorbs it with the impatient avidity of the solitary penitent. Then, solitary and patient, he pours onto the canvases a whole inner world that is a personalized reflection of the world around him.

And it is because Jordi Poquet knows that the landscape is not just an immediate panoramic reference enclosing, in polychromatic sorcery, the gaze of the painter. The landscape is, it must be, an aesthetic premise from which the painter, in the register of artistic emotion, can develop his creative capacity.

For these reasons – the heart always knows intuitive reasons – essencializes Jordi Poquet the landscape, from a direct, sensory visualization, and, with passionate judgment, carries out a plastic assessment full of profound and clear Mediterraneanism. Supreme sign of a painter who, like Jordi Poquet, has been intoxicated by colored light to unfold, thereafter, a sensitive and brilliant pictorial repertoire.
He, Jordi Poquet, seems daring and is shy, seems spontaneous and is meditative. That is why he constructs his painting from a recitative, adjusted, and expansive interiority. Therefore, Jordi Poquet’s landscapes are notably light, spontaneous, of brushstroke upon a solid, thoughtful, compositional conception. Therefore, without fearing the vibrant conjugation of complementary colors, nor the obligatory definition of the foregrounds, Jordi Poquet creates zonal intensities and neutral spaces, and, in chromatic tension, launches into the tonal horizontality of finely tuned perspectives to the limits of the transparencies of the skies, where weightless blues become serene and brittle under pearly nuances that counterpoint gentle mauves, velvety purples, initial pinks, hinted whites, celestial epiphanies.
Jordi Poquet loves the countryside air and the sea air. He loves the clusters of broom that stain the germinal canvas of the fields with blood. He loves the wintry hour when almond trees weave ephemeral bridal lace. He loves the bowed majesty of silver-headed olive trees that mark the secular memory of the land. He loves the disarrayed rows of wildflowers, humble songs of pale lilies, golden yellows, playful greens, torn reds over elongated ochres.
He loves and paints, Jordi Poquet, the marine climate, the salty climate that dozes off on the sun-filled beach. He flies from the branches of pine trees, green needles, hidden color within a labyrinth wounded by shed aromas. Liquefied reflections, tranquil, like watercolor threads of ancient, mythical density, like the very rumor of the sea.
He loves and paints and paints and loves, Jordi Poquet, the secret miracle of the earth’s light, of the sea’s light, of the clarity of the atmosphere that, fleetingly adventurous, is the human measure of the sweet and dramatic depth of the landscape. Because the landscape, for Jordi Poquet, is an artistic category beyond the immediate reference of the living environment. It is the soul of the landscape.

Alexandre Ballester
Autumn 94, Sa Pobla