Servando knows there is much eternity in those bodies. To achieve such a status, no matter how much the spirit wants it, I suppose comes from a condition that arises from obliquities when one exists. Be oblique when you say: this is life; avoid the psalmody to build the scenario of a hypertrophic placidity that sometimes is not consciously noticed. Then begins a process of cognitive depuration of reality, in which reason knows no eternal stops but brief lapses at the service of quick desire almost forbidden. “Just as misfortune makes us think more, happiness takes away all desire for analysis,” Pío Baroja would say.
In the artist’s diachrony there is an evident and gradual evasion of this analysis. The way he conceives the human body during his creative journey is testament of it. Servando deposits in his canvases of the sixties much more than the excessive feeling of the revolutionary deed. Such protagonists show in their anatomy a corporeal zenith that ignites the canvas. In this admiration for the supremacy of the flesh as a symbol of strength –and no one doubts there is eroticism also–, he announces the unveiling of a constant feature in his work: the eros and its unconditionality in happy beings.
It is precisely on this search for what most resembles happiness, that the artist undertakes a long process of abstraction from the reality that surrounds him. There, where he had deposited all his creativity as historical documentation of the revolutionary process, he obtained nothing but ostracism. Then, understands that only in the abstraction of the environment can he find the fullest satisfaction, far from reason and the most orthodox judgment. Thus begins to twist a world of abstract landscapes, probably nonexistent, because in the conformation of his characters there is no other background than that of a disembodied complacency. Yes, in the couplings of Servando Cabrera Moreno the body is nothing but the most explicit matter, the never drawn landscape, the one you breathe; it is the true essence. It is not even the ordinary pleasure of the libidinous trance. In his compositions, the artist portrays the ecstatic feast of a happiness achieved by a perpetual act –he would add eternal– of freedom.
That freedom that should constitute the inherent right of his fellow men acquires an almost divine hue in the lines that Servando interweaves. It seems that there is no beginning or end in each of the coalitions; as in the drawing, no one could venture to determine where it has begun or where shall everything end.
Suspended in time, the works of Cabrera Moreno perpetuate the human condition of a preferred ideological expatriation. If the body is all that exists as a binnacle of braided circumstances, nothing can make it weigh in death. Maybe that is why there are no faces in Servando’s canvases, and there is only soul, in the form of capricious joints, shapes and colors.