Anyone who has ever worked with ceramics will tell you that there’s a certain joy in being able to mould the clay to your every desire—there’s absolutely no constraint and the object you create is entirely your own. If the work in Belgian artists Eric Colonel and Thomas Spit’s latest exhibit at Can Garita is any indication, the two artists certainly enjoy this aspect of sculpture. Their masks, playful and cartoonish in nature, adorn the rustic whitewashed walls of the Ibiza art gallery.
The artists describe their work as a “wink or reminiscence of comic strips, raw or anonymous artwork, or traditional and folk masks.” Maybe because their sources of inspiration are so extensive, the masks emerge as recognisable figures wearing almost universally identifiable expressions. Monkeys painted in primary colours, furry creatures sporting wide grins, and faces with slightly off-centre features look irreverent and exuberant, a glimpse into Colonel and Spit’s imaginative universe.
Looking closer reveals intricate work; Diego bears a stunning white and sky-blue gradient glaze, Guida is smoothly textured with waves and swirls, and many others have shiny, mosaic elements. There’s also something charmingly organic about the masks. The artists embrace glaze spills and unexpectedly misshapen bits by integrating them into the pieces. Because each face has been shaped by hand, and has been skilfully imbued with its own personality, it’s easy to connect with them, decide which ones we like and don’t like, as we do with real people.
And just like human beings, the masks don’t seem to be simply hung on the walls; they inhabit the house, an unlikely bunch of roommates who somehow get along. It seems to make sense that these characters would choose to live in Can Garita. After all, the house echoes much of what the masks are themselves. There are touches of artistic elegance in the smooth wood gates that open right onto the cerulean water and in the sun-drenched, stone-made patio. But above all, the gallery is rustic and quintessentially Mediterranean, never trying to be something it’s not, like the masks.
The space and the artworks are filled with their own character, and upon entering, it’s not clear which is feeding off the other more. The masks are little humanoid inhabitants, who we can love as “friends, patron saints, roadside spirits, guardian angels or one of our little pet demons—those we affectionately keep on the secret of our shoulders.”
