Vicente Fuenzalida Lafourcade
Alalú

The Treile is a bird that lives in southern Chile. It is black, white, and gray, and has a red spur on each wing. In spring, it nests directly on the grass, and if you get too close, it defends its eggs by spreading its wings and revealing the spurs that emerge from its feathers. It starts to approach in a threatening way, and if you still don’t step back, they take flight and glide so close that they almost brush against you.
To open the fence you have to slip your foot under the wooden planks, push upward, and quickly pull out the latch before it gets stuck again.
Don Orlando is skilled with the machete, he cuts through every kind of branches and thorny plants as he makes his way through the forest. His Machete is big and its handle is rolled up with a bicycle inner tube.Every now and then he stops to wait for those who’ve fallen behind, spinning and flipping his machete in all sorts of tricks. In the middle of his play, he picks a random tree and slices off a clean strip of bark, exposing the moist white wood beneath.
The house is made of wood, and the ground is soft, so over time, the wood warps as ground sinks.
The grass reaches up to your calves for quite a stretch, so you don’t notice it until you’re out of there. They look like perfect little balls, spiky like a virus. They stick to your socks and prick your skin. You have to take off your socks to remove them, but when you grab them, they fall apart, leaving only the spines stuck between the threads of the sock. In the end, you have to pull them out one by one.
Figo grabbed the sheets that were hanging outside and tore them to pieces all over the garden.
In summer, the cherries ripen and fall onto the grass. The dogs eat them, and later they take a dump, leaving a turd made entirely of pits.








ALLO YOU,
Hi Vicente,
Thank you for our slow walk through your presentation ALALÚ…
…TO THE LIGHT, as another way to read the title as you told me,
A LA LUZ, in your native language,
ALALU, in the fast-paced, glued-together Osorno-Chilean version,
LA, there, a bucolic scene with sun, cloud, bird, willow, path, fence, rake and rubber boots,
U can be found in the blind spot mirror,
Z disappeared and became a letter image by itself, a painter’s installation.
You wrote seven short pieces of text, which were placed alongside your sixteen works. They made me step into a distant home, a life of landscapes, precise puzzle pieces inside support structures, fragile, but just strong enough to hold. A smile, recognition. May I mirror them in an equal number of pieces that I draw from myself? May I plant them in your landscape?
- The lapwing (Vanellus vanellus) is a meadow bird and is commonly found in the Low Countries. It has a proud crest, black and white plumage, and a rust-brown undertail. The female nests in an open pasture, bordered by a shallow ditch and freshly ploughed fields. The male throws himself into the air, the spring wind he glides on fans the flames of love. He is dancing his best courtship waltz. The series of acrobatic tilts is accompanied by his call – PEE-WIT – and the sound of rhythmically swishing feathers. His call ends with a higher, faster exclamation: WITWIT! The pee-wit, wit wit keeps being repeated tirelessly throughout the day. Loud and crowing, then rather lilting like pee-you, pee-you, wit wit, eeze wit, eeze wit. I hear an endless amount of variations in duration and intonation, but they all dance around that one pee-wit. I know these flappy lapwingers from different life stages, spring days and familiar places. Where I’m from, their call is usually heard as kie-wiet or kiejoe, kiejoe, wiet-wiet, wiejoe-iet-iet-iet on more melodious days.
- CLICK and EEEEEK, I open the garden gate by pulling out the latch and putting my foot under the wood. It's heavy, causing the planks to drag across the grass. On the other side of the fence stands a series of sensations such as teeth pressing into something soft, a hard comb running over the scalp, a rake raking straight lines into the ground, and the sensuous feeling that comes along with it.
- Do you know Ana, she throws knifes… knife throwing as they say, a sport, a spectacle, an art, sometimes an attack but always a move. The knife throwster needs a target. When this is a person, she throws to miss — narrowly. Her knife is the extension of her intentions, her body the engine. A situation filled with soft tissue, intense openness, closeness, and power.
- The earth is softer than we think. We see a perfectly round sphere, a ball of rock, but over time, the ground will sink and our oceans will boil. The outer core of the Earth is liquid, there is not enough pressure to keep it in a solid state: “They estimate it would take about 91 billion years for the core to completely solidify—but the sun will burn out in a fraction of that time (about five billion years).”
- My favorite pair of socks has several loose threads, that’s why I call it my favorite. The objects that caused the snags were among others a thornbush, a freshly painted, impatient fingernail and catchweed, you know, those spiky, sticky willy little balls,… One moment came with a protrusion and no distortion; the other one has a distortion and no protrusion; another now has both protrusion and distortion and so on. I will not repair them, rather look at them as souvenirs.
- You are a dog and you run out of the water. You shake your whole body from head to tail. Your tongue hangs out contentedly if all is well. OUAF! You try to live life to the fullest every day, running, jumping, chewing, biting, otherwise you become restless, anxious, stressed, bored.
- This Autumn, the world, your colour palette, consists of four colors: brown, blue, red, and green. Together, they create new layers of land, painted and beyond. Leaves pile up and then somehow disappear again. I leave you here and wish you all all the luck!
Greetings from Achtel to Osorno,
To where paths cross,
Liene Aerts
photos: Vicente Fuenzalida Lafourcade


























