Lupina Lara

Universo mágico lleno de detalles. 2005

Hyperrealism emerged in the United States in the 1960s as a reaction against the movement known as Informalism. This current had arisen in Europe during the 1950s as a consequence of the exhaustion left by war, and its philosophy was rooted in Sartrean existentialism. Informalist artists, such as Francis Bacon, worked by deforming and destroying form, in an act that reflected frustration and pain; his distorted faces are a clear example. For those who had lived through the devastation of war, reality had lost its meaning and appeal. After several years, the wounds had begun to close, and reconstruction gradually erased the traces of desolation. For Americans, however, the process of moral recovery was simpler, since their territory and families had not directly suffered the impact of destruction and massacre.

Thus, taking the lead, a heterogeneous group of artists returned to realism, emphasizing detail in opposition to the Informalists. These painters based their work on subjects ranging from portraits and landscape views to theatrical scenes and inanimate objects. Although its origins are recognized in the United States, the return to realism was not limited to that country, which—thanks to the economic power of its collectors—had assumed a leadership role in guiding the course of art. Consequently, we see that in the 1960s, in Spain, the renowned painter Antonio López had already begun his path toward realism with works of great value and significance. What is certain is that this pendular movement now pointed back toward reality, and thus we encounter painters of the stature of the Chilean Claudio Bravo, the Cuban Tomás Sánchez, and the Spanish artist Santiago Carbonell, among others. Within this current we also find sculptors, such as Andrea with his perfectly rendered nudes, or George Segal, who employed molds taken directly from the model’s body in fiberglass and polyester resin, adding real hair and clothing.

Some of the painters involved in this movement came to be known as Photorealists, since they used cameras to gather visual data that would later serve as models for their paintings. This idea is not new if we consider that the Dutch painter Vermeer, in the seventeenth century, employed the camera obscura to capture the image of his subjects. Not all painters sought to equal the perfection of reality. Some, like Tomás Sánchez, introduce a mystical and spiritual dimension into their realist works; others, such as Claudio Bravo, infuse objects with an extreme vitality. In the case of Armando Zesatti, it is his approach to beauty and detail that animates his work. This young Mexican painter demonstrates that the brush can approach the truthfulness of the lens and, beyond that, enhance the aesthetic quality of things.

Armando was born in Mexico City in 1967. During his childhood, painting was merely a pastime to which he gladly devoted much of his time. His brothers also drew, but over the years the only one who preserved a lasting passion for painting was Luis Armando. “My family consists of five brothers and one sister. I am the fourth. Curiously, all of us men had an aptitude for drawing and painting, but the only one who pursued a career closer to the arts was the youngest. He completed a degree in Graphic Design and practices his profession to this day. In my case, the recognition I received encouraged me for many years to continue working in this field. When I had to choose a career, I initially enrolled in Design, but after a year I switched to Business Administration. From a very young age, I began working in my father’s business, but I always sought time to paint. I remember that halfway through my studies, I managed to gather several pieces and presented an exhibition of drawings. The university professors knew that I painted and allowed me to show the work there. It was an adventure. I was very excited about exhibiting. Honestly, I found it hard to believe that anything would sell, but it went very well; several pieces were sold. That encouraged me, and I continued exhibiting. Through the sale of my paintings, I eventually earned more than what my father paid me in his business. I think knowing that some people found value in my work gave me great confidence. That was when I asked my father to give me the opportunity to dedicate myself fully to painting, and that is how I began painting full time.”

Armando studied Business Administration at the Universidad del Nuevo Mundo. Although he would have liked to study Fine Arts as well, he does not regret his career choice, as he explains that it provided him with order and stability. “Administration helped me develop a method to organize my life and my work. It allowed me to understand the world that surrounds artists, which can sometimes be incomprehensible and difficult to navigate. At times you wish you could dedicate yourself solely to painting, but you also need to promote your work, to exhibit it, and to understand how galleries and pricing function. It is also necessary to understand that there are other artists whose work has reached a certain status, and that working with an unprofessional gallery can damage the image of your work rather than support it. It is an entire world, and although it has nothing to do with the act of painting itself, I believe it is important to understand it and to know how to move within it. Still, I sometimes think how wonderful it would have been to spend four years alongside teachers and classmates, sharing visions of painting. I would have liked to study art history in greater depth and learn more about different movements and styles. Even though not with the same discipline as university, we are always, in one way or another, keeping ourselves informed about what concerns us.”

How did Armando replace the formal education offered by art school? First and foremost, he defines himself as a self-taught painter. In his early years, painting was considered—by himself and by his family—a pastime. However, Armando always maintained a deep interest: he wanted to improve, to gain greater mastery of the craft, better techniques, and more knowledge. For more than six years, despite a limited budget, he paid for private lessons and enrolled in various painting and drawing workshops. In one workshop he learned one thing, in another something else, and these experiences—together with consulting books and maintaining constant practice—have contributed to the technical perfection with which he now works.

His earliest works were meticulously executed drawings. He did not mind the time required to achieve the perfection he sought. As he gained control and understanding of materials, painting became his great passion. The pleasure of painting and experimenting led him to explore a wide range of subjects: still lifes, landscapes, equestrian themes, colonial alleyways, and even portraiture. Over time, subject matter gained increasing importance. Armando became more selective about what he wanted to paint and gradually found his path. Yet above the subject itself, the act of painting remains his greatest passion.

The theme that generated the greatest public interest was that of horses. Commissions arrived from all directions—equestrian subjects such as saddles, horse heads, and full-body portraits of horses. Thus, almost unintentionally, he entered a first equestrian phase, which due to high demand lasted nearly five years. “There are subjects that do not particularly interest me, such as still lifes or portraiture. Although I have worked with them, they do not motivate me as much as other themes. During those years painting horses, I stayed close to charro canvases, equestrian clubs, and frequently visited racetracks. These environments allowed me to remain in contact with the atmosphere and elements I depicted, and they were also where the audience interested in my work could be found.”

Breaking away from this phase was difficult, since success was within reach, but advancing his career required a new challenge—working freely rather than by commission. Thus, he shifted toward paintings featuring repeated objects across the canvas: rag dolls, baskets, painted wooden toys—elements created by the sensitive hands of humans. These objects did not require capturing vitality or strict realism, yet Zesatti took a step further by also painting shells, flowers, pinecones, and fish within the same genre and format. Examples include Juguetes de madera (1994), Caracoles (1999), Muñecas de trapo II (1995), Hojarasca (1996), and La pesca (1998). He remarks: “I created compositions using pinecones—there was an obsession with repeating forms over and over. I once painted forty or fifty pinecones. Although I am not especially fond of painting flowers, during that period I painted compositions with sunflowers, calla lilies, and birds of paradise. I would buy them at the market, arrange them, sometimes spray them with water, photograph them, and then work from the photograph. My painting process is very slow—I spend about a month on a painting—so photographs save me from many problems, such as painting wilted flowers or relying on memory, which often betrays you. I liked painting flowers against dark backgrounds to make the colors stand out more.”

In composing these works, balance becomes essential—both in the arrangement of objects and in the treatment of light and color. Everything must create a harmonious balance that grants aesthetic coherence and ultimately seduces the viewer. These works reveal not only technical progress but also a confident handling of space, reconstructing and saturating it with objects. Although faithful to his genre, the artist admits he is not currently drawn to other movements; from my perspective, these works contain an underlying compositional principle of abstraction.

From these medium formats and intimate views, Zesatti moves toward landscape painting. Vast space became his new attraction. He first painted the desert, in works such as El maguey seco (1996), Nopales y cactus (1996), Nopalera (1998), Órgano (1999), and Camino al norte, Cactus I (2002). These works evoke the arid Mexican land, where cacti grow resilient and noble, like its people. As before, his obsession with detail persists—every bark, thorn, and scar is scrutinized. His brushes revive light and shadow, brilliance and opacity, even painting the atmosphere itself. “When I see a plant with particularly capricious forms and details, it challenges me to paint it. I tell myself, ‘I have to do it,’ because it approaches the impossible. It’s like assembling a puzzle with thousands of pieces—you must believe it’s possible, and then do it.”

Zesatti has traveled countless times to desert regions, understanding that being physically present is essential. He selects his framing, explores the landscape, observes it, and then paints it. Without these encounters, his work would risk becoming cold or merely imitative. Later, drawn by tropical latitudes, he explored jungles and coastal regions near Puerto Vallarta, as well as Miami and Seattle. Palms, beaches, and marinas appear, rendered in increasingly large formats.

Asked whether he remains faithful to reality or alters it, he responds: “I like to be completely faithful to reality. My work is not necessarily a portrait of a specific place, but I remain true to colors and light. Beyond recreating reality, I want to convey atmosphere.” His paintings are luminous, vibrant, and filled with light.

ON HIS PAINTING

These works invite reflection on how Zesatti sees and selects nature. His calm, clarity, and sincerity permeate his work. He moves through the world with openness and attentiveness, allowing beauty to arrest his gaze. Through painting, he shares a magical universe rich in detail—one that has always existed, yet often escapes our hurried perception. His paintings resonate emotionally and through memory, reminding us of the beauty embedded in the organic world.

“…I paint because I love it deeply. For me, resting is painting. I enjoy painting and I like to transmit the beauty of the everyday through it.”