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It was always said – therefore it was never said – that in our universe there exist no two things that are identical. And this absolute truth, dubious for being absolute, has attracted the surrealists, especially that type of Spanish surrealist who invests it with reality, turning it inside out, converting it into a double reality. In the cinema of Luis Buñuel we have heard it said that no two snowflakes, no two columns, or no two peas are identical. A double reality then is called for: “Two faces of a single face” that reminds us of a Dalí still in his youth.
All of that carries us so far that we lose ourselves in our own identity. And this losing oneself is what in Spanish culture provokes a natural profanation; a profanation which allows us a spiritual elevation and which both fuses and yet confuses Gods, Christs or Virgins with carnal beings. Beings in which “desire” acquires its most sublime reality. Then a “lay mysticism” emerges by which we are enabled to wander to great heights as easily as we wander around our own home, even reaching to the point of losing our fear of sacred things, of imagining miracles and, instead, of playing with them, of tarting them up, of making contact with that “Great Theatre of the World”, by which, on a day long ago Calderón de la Barca robbed us of our sleep, obliging us to enter a waking dream.
This – and only this – is how David Trullo dreams, with an irony which is still pure, still childlike, converting to saints all who come within his reach, boys or girls, inviting them to participate in a game of elemental transfiguration which fascinates us with its simplicity which leaves untouched this first outbreak of poetry - that innocent poetry which is still incapable of distinguishing disorder from the odious “established order”.
And thus are born some images which, on being imagined, are already ours.
Emilio Sanz de Soto, Madrid, February 2004
