Normally words are mixed or played upon, ancient painting, modern painting: “what a great mistake”, there is only one kind of painting. Good painting. All paths are good as long as one has the intention: things must not be done following a method, one must not find the way or system of solving a painting; each painting is a different problem; the artist’s state of mind has a great influence. A work or art requires dedicating all the love, expressive force and feeling that one is capable of.
Colour, colour, how right was Van Gogh when saying that a painter had to be colourful and when saying painter I refer to that of the future. (The day everyone realises the beauty of colour and forgets the reason, they will then understand that not everything is appearance in a painting, although that does not mean the latter should be forgotten). Maybe then they will be able to understand some artists. The satisfaction one experiences when putting one colour next to another, in making the chromatic masses vibrate, in making a green colour sing, a red colour shine; to value without making the colour dirty and express in the most natural way one’s feelings, without torture or affectation; in one word, simply, profoundly, this is my ideal; others can search another way, I do not care, not all ideas are the same.
Surroca’s paintings were born from that unfailing place of the spirit in which there is no distinction between words, thoughts, music and colour.
This is the reason why his paintings neither denunciate nor provoke.
With delicate mists and luminous transparencies, his spirit approaches us in a murmur as a silent river amidst the core of a dark landscape.
This work carried out in the heart of the Pyrenees is impregnated with the big mountain’s own mystery, the high trees, profound silence.
The man that reveals when lifting up his head only sees the constellations, which is what the Human being must see to have an exact notion of its dimension.
Confronted with such greatness the moved artist bows down to meditate, to try to find in his most profound folds the equivalent to the magic that surrounds him.
11 February 1975