Mari Eastman’s paintings may have glitter, or they may come from fashion magazines but
there’s something that places them in a universe completely alien and distant from bling bling.
Their blurred faces become an antidote to the Clarendon filter. They stand more suggestive,
insinuating, close to the attraction of the myopic and elusive gaze.
More than a concept or a narrative, the exhibition evokes a tone, an atmosphere created by the
various landscapes, people and animals that it contains. They attract us like the photographs
found in flea markets, because of their anonymity and their mystery, of solitary figures,
moments and objects that contain something that continually escapes. Brushstrokes are
similar to the mood of animals, difficult to photograph because they are unpredictable, they
don’t mind being dirty or sabotaging a perfect scene.
Like the glimmer of insecurity hidden in the elegance of maturity.

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