I greet the ancestor who transits me to become

to remind me of the primitive: 

he is the one who treasures the earth's energy reserves.

This exhibition proposes a multidirectional journey through the atavistic, through that variable time that exists outside of past, present or future categories. A journey through the reappearance and through the sweet, but not from the deformity of the sweet. It's the sweet thing in the consumption of meat, food, material, image. The amiability of the intake and the amiability, too, of the rock that is tested when stamped. The grace and vitality that are appreciated in pain and expense; where there is deterioration

The pieces by Jose Casas are presented as canvas painted in oil, although its aspect is strange. They are cracked papyrus with diffuse images, although not entirely unfamiliar, because they evoke the memory of hidden pleasures and pains. The treatment of the fabric is vastly improved: extra thickness and a tempered texture. The primer mixture takes center stage compared to the original material, already transformed into a flexible and ductile protective screen that, however, cracks. The result is a thick, mosaic surface, in search of an image that allows us to summon a certain unity.

With stealth and timidity, the artist is situated here in the narrow channel that separates the two containers of an hourglass. Experience the emptying, the waiting, like the cursor that, instead of an arrow, turns into a clock while loading a program. And so it slowly shapes the plurality of times, the prehistoric epic of the Lascaux caves or the invented creatures of cartoons, also mythological; the shadows of a rock or the reflections of a monitor in off. The trunk of a tree that may have burned or perhaps we are seeing it at night; or almost blind The hourglass throwing out the last grains, just starting the countdown or shaking horizontally. The rotation of the containers, the overturning and the wear of the sandy wall together evoke a perennial moment that blows with the wind, deforms with the water and escapes between the fingers. 

This horizon of events leads the work of Jose Casas towards the immensity also of space. The game of variation with sizes, postures and orientations are not accidental, although chance always shines through its presence. It is the chance fraction of the discovery, of the reappearance; familiar in its form, but unusual in its language. Un habla de azulejos fuera de todo sistema, folded into itself, but obstinate in overturning an emotional transmission that is startling and overflowing at the same time.

The lime and the sand of the times. This is how his pieces are sold today through the clock.

«Algún pájaro avisa y llama a ir hasta donde vaya
marcando su voz. Y se la obedece; luego no se encuentra nada, nada que no sea un lugar
intacto que parece haberse abierto en ese solo instante y que nunca más se dará así. No hay
que buscarlo. No hay que buscar.»

María Zambrano, Claros del bosque (1977)