Filipe Marques studied in the Faculty of Fine Arts, University of Porto, and the Kunstakademie in Düsseldorf. His work, which has been shown in solo and group exhibitions organised in Portugal and abroad, stems from the theories developed by the modern philosophers who problematised humanism.
It’s the music, my love…
In the depths, where terrors are buried, is where the combat is drawn like a straight line. That’s where you hear the best. Always better when everything explodes, when gestures become shadows of the bodies. An operation that does not mean. It just shows, upsets the image, refusing the possibility of any synthesis.
Always starting over. Nothing to choose. Summoned suicide. Man’s relationship with the machine that prolongs the extravagant race of the world. Fernando Lemos reminds us that “the poet Alexandre O’Neil wanted to kill himself and the others decided to brainwash him”. It is the vertigo of the advance that settles in any place, a body occupied by so many collective figures. Irremediable spaces.
Words that break down into ways of projection according to a structure that, necessarily, moves to encounters and at random. Potency subsists, doubles actions, increases passions. The shortcomings. Between the endless road that the girl travels with the cat under her arm in Satàntango, in the gray mornings of Bèla Tarr, and the anguish of the boy at the piano in Moderato Contabile, by Marguerite Duras, the exhausted silence remains. Or the fear. It’s the music, my love…
Eduarda Neves
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