Page 17 - The Future Belongs to No One. Eugenio Ampudia

here]), just as the indicative mood does in any of the contexts traditionally assigned to the subjunctive mood, such as possibility (Posiblemente ya lo sabe [He/she possibly knows]), likelihood (Probablemente estará durmiendo [He/she/it will probably be sleeping]), hypothesis (Si llueve, no voy [If it rains, I’m not going]), belief (No creoque estén durmiendo [I don’t think they’re sleeping]), desire (Tú te comes eso ahora mismo [You eat that right now]), fear (Lo que me da miedo es que tiene una pistola [What frightens me is that he/she has a pistol]), or necessity (Tienes que comerte eso [You have to eat that]). The subjunctive is best defined as the suspension of the declarative mood that the indicative expresses about the fact that it denotes – that is, as the non-declarative mood.’So perhaps this is the non-declaration of a knee, a pair of hands, a pair of shoulders.And where does this leave us?In irrealis, apparently. Indeed, since Ampudia transforms reality through discreet gestures. In this respect Ampudia’s work reminds me of that of his contemporary, the Czech artist Jiri Kovanda, whose subtle gestures modify everyday life and change reality in a non-declarative but necessary way.If I look out here, what do I see? What does my knee see, what do my shoulders see?Could that be grass moving? The lawn is breathing. It rises and falls. The knee bends and stretches, starts moving too. The knee realises this is possible, probable: because as the saying goes, Bad grass never dies, or so it is believed... Wish or fear?Grass breathes. Grass is alive and, paradoxically, like everything in Ampudia, it’s a moving life that manages to serve the same purpose as still-life: by restoring it to its splendour here, Ampudia reminds us of the passage of time, because grass is a metaphor of the future, as another poet from the past was well aware – Wordsworth, who becomes a prophet when quoted by the delightful mouth of Natalie Wood:‘Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather findStrength in what remains behind.’Grass speaks to us and breathes from the future, where Ampudia achieves its last(ing), subjunctive beauty. The foot tells us: ‘How I would like to feel that grass breathe between my toes!’ Beauty is breathing here, not dead in memory. What shall we do with that? We’re your shoulders, and we remind you that the future belongs to no one yet.17 | EUGENIO AMPUDIA. THE FUTURE BELONGS TO NO ONE YET17 | EUGENIO AMPUDIA. THE FUTURE BELONGS TO NO ONE YET