ALEJANDRO MAZÓN

WELCOME

Jean-Michel Basquiat once asked me what I thought was the hardest part of being an artist. “Being exceptional,” I told him. He laughed — the kind of laughter that rises from fallen angels and latenight smoke, from brilliance burning too fast. The laughter of someone mortal, burdened with the talent of immortality. Diary entry, June 29, 1981

Welcome. I’ve never been entirely comfortable introducing myself, perhaps because I’ve never fit neatly into the role of “artist.” I’ve always been a bit of an outlier — reclusive by instinct, wary of attention, yet deeply aware of both my limitations and my strengths. My early understanding of the art world was shaped in New York, during my years at the School of Visual Arts, watching figures like Haring and Basquiat navigate a system they distrusted as much as it celebrated them.

Over the last twentyfive years, my career has been a long catalogue of detours, missteps, and unexpected salvations. I was told that talent has little to do with being seen, and perhaps that’s true — but talent is the one constant I’ve ever had. I never learned to play the game particularly well, yet somehow the work has always found its way to the right eyes. It has carried me through moments when choosing between paint and food was not a metaphor but a daily calculation. The day I chose paint, I understood the blessing and the curse of this life.

Like every artist who survives long enough, I’ve changed. I’ve shed ambitions, outgrown illusions, and returned to the studio with a quieter, more focused urgency. These days, I create because I must. Whether the colors please or the subject resonates is no longer my concern. You may write about the work, dismiss it, celebrate it, or overlook it entirely — all of that has happened before.

What matters is the unfinished piece calling to me from the studio, the one that refuses to let me rest. It’s a siren in an endless ocean, and I’ve long accepted the risk of answering its song.

I live in the tension between wanting to disappear and wanting to blaze brighter than the sun. This space — this website — is where those two impulses meet. I’m glad you’re here.