Percherons, Bones and Other Things That Lean Against the Night

Elvira Poxon’s paintings seem to come from everyday sources; places, animals and people that emit a certain familiarity, an atmosphere that gravitates latent in the periphery of the senses. The artist acts within a temporal limit. She begins and ends each work in a day, as long as the colors are not affected by oxidation. Just like the skin of living beings or the patina of objects, the surface of her paintings gives clues of hidden stories. The result testifies of the fragile and crude construction of an image, like a dry and quite land with a footprint that awaits multiple interpretations.

Far from blinding glares, the weave of the cloth and its story stops right before the light runs out, a warm, deep and firm shadow dwells where vision adaptes itself to a reality that can not be overexposed. Elvira Poxon reaches into the base of the human condition: that strange ability to withstand just about anything, sometimes as Percheron horses willing to sacrifice just to survive and sometimes as saints by merit of eternal glory.