Odagawa Fumiya “Everyone has a fairy tale inside that he cannot read alone.” (Pablo Neruda)
Oneiric places, shapes with indefinite contours and backgrounds. Elements of reality poised between the world of reality and the world of dreams. A house, a horse, two girls. Ordinary elements, peculiar to our daily reality, acquire a magical halo in Fumiya’s paintings. The mysterious emerges from the visible and from the usual, giving the elements improbably liquefied contours, backgrounds with acid tones and deformed physiognomies, subjugated to a certain destiny of mutation. There is darkness in Fumiya’s paintings. Dark, impenetrable forests, with their harsh colours, plummet over man and any work he has built. Flints, centuries-old pines, oaks take over every visible element, flooding the visual field with a gloomy and gloomy presentiment. Although nature is taking over, human activity is always recognizable. It does not get stuck in front of the dark and indefinite, the vision of a place without light. It is there, present in the little houses identifiable among the vegetation, in that horse so tame that it is probably a friend of man; it is embodied in the figures of the two girls who, in spite of the length and uncomfortableness of their clothes, make space among the spreading vegetation to reach the muddy shore of the pond in the foreground. Yet the reflection of the girl on the surface of the water is not defined at all. The contours are lost, the face is erased and the reflected physiognomy is reduced to a few strokes of light colour.