Mario de Pascual knows both sides of the game: he has taken the frenetic pulse of financial giants and has speeded up his heart with the electricity of a canvas. Now his veins are full of paint. He goes from Picasso to Lichtenstein without messing up his hair. His work is full of heavy gears, light prints, faces enclosed in flags and impossible women lips that we don’t even know if they exist or we just have dreamt of them in a shared delirium.
His life doesn’t fit in a paragraph –no matter how long, because his soul has several masks: financier, art gallery director, sax by chance in the streets of weird cities, artist, designer of breathing furniture, father, resident of New York without leaving Madrid, traveler, … Every day, each character lives locked in his paintings; in sculptures that look at you with the inocence of a bird.
Mario is the only artist I know whose work is yet more beautiful when the lights are off.