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My work balances positive and negative days, joy and sadness, grays and colors. My pieces often depict this combination, representing the ebb and flow of every human being’s daily life. The grays on the skin symbolize negative days: problems, sorrows, and failures—those days and nights when a person stares at the mirror, feeling the urge to abandon their goals and dreams. However, at that moment, an inner voice embraces them, shakes off their fears, and whispers into their ear—into their soul—something that stirs their very bones and thoughts. It says: everything will be all right; the sunrise, with its shades of pink and violet, will herald a new day, a new beginning, where you can see the morning dew bathing the flowers in the fields, the mockingbird singing a hymn of joy to life. Paths kissed by the sun’s genuine light, corn embraced by brown, yellow, and blush. The circle in my work represents each person’s space; as inhabitants of this planet, we must support one another, respecting our opinions and decisions, because we do not know the burden our neighbor carries. Empathy lightens our collective weight in this life.
Mario Abidail López López was born on August 17, 1991, in Finca Oná, El Quetzal, San Marcos, Guatemala. My childhood among the coffee plantations has been one of the greatest gifts life has given me: growing up with sunrises heralded by the song of the zanate and watching the brilliant sunset dance to the tune of the clarinet. I started working on the coffee farm as a child. The morning dew clung to my pants and rubber boots as I followed the foreman’s voice, carrying my machete, hoe, and a bag of tortillas my mother had made for me. My paths were dirt trails winding through the underbrush and among the ants. In winter, they turned into muddy swamps, and those trails became my first canvases, where I drew with my machete, sketching my first creations with chalum branches. The church I attended held a drawing contest, and I won when I was just six years old. My prize was Q 2.00 (two quetzales) and half a dozen plantains. I never studied art formally; however, I do not consider myself a self-taught artist, since my teachers from a young age were nature and my experiences.
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