Florin Șuțu

Ion Șinca brings back into the present the ever-invoked obsolescence of the motif, of figuration — not through an expedition into gratuitous abstractions, but by focusing on a detail, on the foreground pose, his landscapes becoming emotions and less recognizable geographies.

This artist's compositions — by far a landmark for peers and disciples — have something of the quiet of religious meditation; the landscapes could border, almost to kinship, on cathedral frescoes: trees with haloes, invoking victory over the earthly; the skies have folds like the shirts of soldier-saints; the houses seem inhabited humbly by apostles; the light appears filtered through stained glass…

The exhibition of the painter Ion Șinca is a “last supper”, not a feast, not a debauch of gluttony. The bread has the taste of quiet; the wine — the colour of October's golden fruit. Ion Șinca — an artist who will slowly, slowly withdraw into museums and private collections what remains of a nature threatened by aesthetic primitivism, by the hungry-jawed bulldozers of a barbaric architecture.