Mekanikalgia No.4: the exact moment when man stops listening to himself
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By Abisay Puentes
Cuban-American Artist
There are works that are not meant to be seen, but to be inhabited.
Mekanikalgia No.4 belongs to that uncomfortable territory where painting stops being an image and becomes an inner experience. It is not a work you observe from a safe distance; it is a threshold. And crossing it implies a silent, slow, but irreversible transformation.
When I painted this piece, I was not thinking about “making an artwork.” I was trying to understand a very precise moment of the human soul: the exact instant in which man agrees to connect himself to something that promises relief, order, progress… and in doing so, loses the ability to listen to himself.
This work does not represent explicit violence. It represents something far more dangerous: voluntary surrender.
The mechanics of dependence
In Mekanikalgia No.4, the human body still retains strength, volume, presence. It is not a weak body. It is not a defeated body. It is a body that could still resist, but has already decided not to.
The machine does not break in violently. It connects with surgical delicacy. The tubes do not tear; they seduce. They adapt to the body as if they were always meant to be there. That is the real tragedy: there is no struggle, only consent.
Here, the machine is not merely a symbol of technology. It represents any system that promises meaning in exchange for inner silence. It can be ideological, political, religious, social, even emotional. The machine changes its shape depending on who looks at it, because all of us have been connected to something at some point.
The perfume before forgetting
Within the deeper narrative of La Parábola, this work represents the moment after exposure to the perfume of the fruit: that aroma that dulls consciousness and makes the unacceptable seem acceptable. It is not a fruit that is bitten; it is a perfume that is inhaled. And what is inhaled is not questioned—it is absorbed.
Mekanikalgia No.4 is the instant when the effect begins to settle. The body has not yet collapsed, but thought has already been softened. Uncomfortable questions dissolve. Inner friction disappears. And with it, the capacity to resist.
Anyone who lives with this work begins to notice something unsettling: they do not accuse the figure in the painting; they recognize themselves in it.
The absent figure: you are already there
There is something many people tell me after spending time with this painting: they feel someone is missing. And they are right. What is missing is the observer—because the observer is already inside.
The diffused shadow, the imprecise background, the suspended space—all of it is designed so there is no clear “outside.” This work does not position itself in front of you; it absorbs you. It includes you within its symbolic field.
There are no heroes in Mekanikalgia No.4. There are no visible villains either. That is deliberate. The work does not seek external culprits; it seeks to provoke an internal question:
At what moment did I stop listening to myself in order to function better?
Promise of transformation: what happens when this work enters your life
This is where the painting stops being art and becomes transformative experience.
Whoever acquires Mekanikalgia No.4 does not obtain a powerful image to decorate a space. They obtain a symbolic device that operates over time. A presence that does not exhaust itself in a single glance.
The transformation unfolds in layers:
1. It awakens lucid discomfort
This work does not produce immediate pleasure. It produces awareness. It returns questions that everyday noise usually anesthetizes. The discomfort it generates is not anxiety; it is clarity.
2. It restores inner dialogue
Living with this piece reactivates something essential: conversation with oneself. Not superficial chatter, but that deep voice that is often silenced by systems, routines, and external expectations.
3. It breaks the illusion of neutrality
After this work, it becomes difficult to believe that “everything is normal.” You begin to detect invisible machines: discourses, structures, habits that promise order in exchange for consciousness.
4. It returns symbolic sovereignty
Not because it tells you what to do, but because it reminds you that you can still decide. That the body in the painting still has strength. That the connection is not yet irreversible.
The true value of this work
The value of Mekanikalgia No.4 does not lie in its technique, nor in its visual complexity, nor even in its place within the series. Its value lies in something far rarer:
This work does not age, because the human condition it reveals remains active.
As long as systems exist that promise relief in exchange for awareness, this painting will continue to speak. As long as human beings prefer to function rather than to understand, this image will remain disturbingly relevant.
That is why it is not a work for everyone.
And it never intended to be.
Who this work is for
This painting finds its natural place among people who:
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have gone through deep processes of disillusionment
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distrust simple solutions
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sense that progress often anesthetizes
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value art as confrontation, not ornament
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seek objects that dialogue, not decorate
Whoever owns this work is not looking for external approval. They are looking for inner honesty.
Living with Mekanikalgia No.4
Living with this work does not mean looking at it every day. It means knowing it is there. Watching. Remembering. Waiting.
It is a silent presence that does not demand constant attention, but that never becomes invisible. In moments of noise, it brings you back to center. In moments of excessive comfort, it unsettles you. In moments of doubt, it reminds you that critical thinking always has a cost… but also a dignity.
Closing
Mekanikalgia No.4 does not promise happiness.
It promises something rarer and far more valuable: lucidity.
It does not promise answers.
It promises that you will not be allowed to forget the questions.
And in a world designed to anesthetize, that alone is a radical act.
If this work unsettles you, it is not a flaw.
It is a sign.
Because true art does not confirm who we are.
It confronts us with what we are agreeing to become.
