At Pachuca Sotomayor’s studio it produces a kind of dancing, with the music pretending to be chromatic and paint pretending to be sound. In the background you can hear the sounds of Mozart piano sonatas or romantic masterpieces of Schumann and Brahms.
Sotomayor slips on her ballet dancer artist shoes, takes the stage, to that place of peace and creative limerence, where her dance with the paint begins. Both leading, he asks her for color, she gives it a harmony of terracottas into fluid geometric forms or a dissonant contrast between sky blues and vermillion reds with tense and winding lines that never lose the rhythm. He asks her for volume, more movement, she throws the brush away and offers him earth, textile, sand, wood, texture. He asks her for air, as he cannot breathe. She opens him, lends him her lung, giving him lyricism and life.