Words by Aaron Jones
Mochi’s paintings are alive. He hands us an illusory realism on a silver platter. On his canvasses we gorge upon a full table of flat, hyper colored meals that appear cooked over open flame. We eat and come face to face with shaman undulating and evolving in two vast dimensions. We find ourselves on a vision quest as we wander through Mochi’s supernatural images. The folkloric backdrop enfolds us and tucks us in tight with our most familiar and discomforting rites of passage. Cultureless but decidedly universal his subjects are talismanic, primitive sophisticates.
These pieces harken deep into our subterranean, ritualized genetic code. They call us back into the presence of the ancestral traditions we all share at our root. Like cave paintings they elucidate our concrete corporeality, as expressed by our own hands, in the form phantasms on a rock face in the firelight. This tribal impressionism provides a locale for technique and training to run headlong into perception and instinct. Unencumbered by the magnetic draw of realism Daniel’s work is a place for the existential to run completely wild. It’s simultaneously a celebration of, and warning about, the power within humanity and the supernatural surrounding it.
Mochi runs with powerful deities, human exceptionalism and our base, animal core. With color as a foundation he gives insight into forgotten events and fears. The paranormal and the supernatural jive with images we all have buried in our cerebellums.
There is a collective consciousness here. To expose it to us, the artist becomes a modern mystic painting with the brush of our hominoid eons. The place where we as a species dusted off our hands, stood upright, and began to tell stories. These human eras might just have remained incomprehensible if not for him. Daniel Mochi is a conduit and we can now plug in.
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