Cynthia Eisenberg

Cynthia Eisenberg

Cynthia Eisenberg

My children were young and for several years I didn't touch a paintbrush. There was no room for that. Rather than oil painting, you had to buy trainers. I was always a bit out of the circuit, out of the stereotype of the "artist". A bit of Argentina always sends you to the periphery. But being on the outside enriches you. The museum is wonderful as inspiration, but also the supermarket, the underground or your niece's quinceañera with all the drunken uncles. I had run out of images. I was suffering from a kind of amnesia. One day I got my hands on the black and white photos of my grandmother's house. Like a necklace of several generations of lustrous smiles strung together. There were so many stories I had heard that the photos refused to tell. Eva Perón and Ceferino. The Spanish Civil War. The long-distance marriages. The foetus in a jar. The whole secret and feminine universe hidden by the plastic smiles of the photos. This is how I returned to painting. In "Almas bellas" I set out to retrace my family history, putting together an album from old family photos re-signified. A selection of told and untold stories that come to light through painting.