
Enrique Martinez Celaya
Quiet Night (Ocean), 1999
Oil, fiberglass and resin
25 x 34 x 30 In. 63.5 x 86.4 x 76.2 Cm.
Art Basel Miami Beach week presents so many competing events that one can try to do “everything” or sit down and choose the events more carefully that suit your interests. This is what I did this year. The tipping point has been reached; now in its ninth edition, Art Basel Miami Beach week reached greater balance by giving greater weight to the artists rather than to the events. Emi Fontana, Director of West of Rome, the Los Angeles-based non-profit public arts group (and former exhibitor at the ABMB Fair) engaged in an Art Basel Miami Beach Conversation: “Making Artists’ Dreams Come True” was case and point.

Enrique Martinez Celaya
with Amy Pollack and Dr. Carol Damian
Frost Talk
December, 5 2010
Excerpts from Enrique Martinez Celaya
Destroying work is not easy, but I do it often. If a work does not unveil truth, I don’t see a reason for it to be, and when I am tempted to relax my standards, I feel the calling of the artists and thinkers I respect. These influences define a worldview that exerts pressure in what I do, which in turn influences the choices I make as an artist.
In theory, it’s easy to speak of truth, risk and other virtuous aims, but in practice, we tend to settle for convenience, habit and compromises, especially in the arts where truth is not assumed to be essential as it is in science or religion. In fact, the very invocation of truth in an artistic context invites ridicule.
Artists and art enthusiasts don’t usually demand or receive more than the slight fog because they assume art should charm them or surprise them or even help them think, but not that it should transform them into better people. If they do look for clarity and ethics, they look for it elsewhere. And yet, for me, it is in art, and not in religion or science, that I look for truth.
Most likely, the prophetic imperative is too much for the rest of us, but this absurd demand is precisely what we need in a world were most hearts are in retreat. Perhaps I only speak of my own heart. Whatever the case might be, only when art imposes an absurdly elevated demand on who I am does it seem worthwhile. To be gimmicky and insincere most of us don’t need any help, but we do need assistance to transcend our smallness.
To face a great work of art, say a Velazquez, is to be burnt by it and its fire is wakefulness. In the wakefulness of the great work of art we sense our own dreaminess, our passivity, and we recognize, as a groggy underwater diver recognizes that to live he must return to the surface, who we might or could be if we were to be awake.
To be awake we must work very hard to remain clear, renounce most of what we consider precious and accept that only love shows the way. All great artworks invite the going out of our nature to discover love as a possibility. And in that possibility we might get a glimpse of the wholeness we lost while dreaming.