The evolution of the history of images has brought with it an ever-increasing complexity. Nonetheless, it can be balanced with a simple equation, consisting of an analysis of the context and the elaboration of its own historiography. It does not lose itself in impossible situations offering no points of reference; instead, it becomes more sophisticated in the way it shows itself and in the thematic breadth it encompasses. At this point, there is an unquestionable need for a constant linguistic revision that is capable of naming and then narrating what the new forms and as yet unseen images have to contribute. The ideas that Herbert Read planted over six decades ago in The Tenth Muse not only created a way of addressing novelty in art, but also ensured that it could no longer be otherwise.

This work was first displayed at Mendizábal's exhibition 'Ni suma ni fragmento (Ez batura, ez atal)' [‘Neither a Sum nor a Fragment’] at the Galería Carreras Mugica. The artist wrote a text for the exhibition with two opening paragraphs that were later left out of the gallery's room sheet. In them, he said that 'the literature that accompanies an exhibition is the closest thing to a foreword'. This preamble, or 'what is said before saying, contains a paradox' and 'an excuse' for that 'which one knows will not be said'. At the same time, the exhibition 'Neither a Sum nor a Fragment' itself amended the notion of totality, viewed as the relationship established between the independent parts and the whole to which they belong. To a great extent, contemporary art needs this symbiosis between the whole and its parts in much the same way as art criticism needs constantly to update its lexicon in order to be able to hone its discourse, regardless of the fact that it is expressed in the present tense and can do little more than grope around in the dark.

Iroko / Makore #1 is a photograph affixed to an aluminium base with an aluminium frame. The picture shows the surface of a herringbone-mounted wooden parquet and a twin frame in the same wood, all blown up to approximately 1:1 scale. When we take a closer look at the pattern, we discover that the image is actually a collage, made out of different fragments, through which we can see the metal surface of the base. A gap in the photographs leaves a geometric shape running diagonally across the picture. Viewed on its own, i.e., as a single part, this shape is simply a geometric element that creates a mismatch and interrupts the pattern. However, as Johan Swinnen once said, photography is 'mute'. Without the 'extra-photographic data' that any image generates and which comes from other areas of knowledge, it remains in 'absolute silence'.

In this case, the extra-artistic data are essential in enabling a precise and careful appreciation of the complete content of the work. In its natural extension, contemporary art, like archival art, fantasises with the idea of totality. The search for a representation that is greater than the represented object itself (the object taken from reality) enables an alternative creation of realities. In constructing it, we cannot ignore historical events, artistic self-references, political views or ideological passion. In Mendizabal's work, which has sometimes been defined as cryptic, nothing happens by chance. Indeed, chance might well be that roll of the dice that demonstrates both the consciousness of the act and the inevitability of its outcome.

Strips of Iroko and Makore (two types of tropical hardwood from Guinea), are laid across a surface which in turn, generates geometric shapes. They are arranged in such a way as to leave part of the aluminium base exposed. They reproduce some of the parts of the sculpture Casa / Palabra [House / Word], which represents and deconstructs the roofs of an experimental urban project (La Casa de la Palabra [The House of the Word]) commissioned by Franco's prime minister, Carrero Blanco from architect Ramón Estalella. La Casa de la Palabra was developed between 1962 and 1968, and incorporated the rationalist style into a series of villages in Equatorial Guinea. The developments were intended to highlight the paternalistic nature of colonialism, to respond to pressure from international organisations (among them the United Nations) for Equatorial Guinea to be granted its independence.

Álvaro de los Ángeles