Description

In The Fountain by Carlos Quinto Kemm, the viewer is plunged into a fantastical narrative—part myth, part fever dream—set within an impossibly lush and chaotic garden. The collage is framed like a portal, an ornate circular window edged in thorny, flower-like shapes that feel as though one is peering through the jeweled eye of some ancient artifact or magical mirror. We enter a dreamworld, alive with movement and dense with symbols, colors, and creatures. At its heart sits a central duo—a mythical beast with the face of a lion, crowned with golden flora, and a woman wrapped around him like ivy. Her gaze is assertive and inviting, both protector and temptress, while the creature she clings to exudes power, mystery, and a primal stillness. The juxtaposition of fur, feathers, and flowing garments suggests a union of nature’s wild chaos and human longing. Behind them, a winding stone path leads through the deep green of the forest, towards ruins of what may have once been temples or sacred halls—half-swallowed by vines. A sense of faded majesty pervades, as if this world exists in the wake of a forgotten empire, now given over to wilderness.

To the left, a hedgehog-like creature with bird features drinks from a fountain—the namesake of the piece. This fountain overflows not only with water but with life and color: blues, aquas, and silvers swirl into the surrounding foliage, as if it nourishes the very garden. Above, winged beasts and birds swoop and curl among twisted tree limbs, draped in gold. Some are predators, others more benign. They frame the sky like moving sentinels. Throughout the image, creatures and hybrids emerge from the undergrowth and shadows—some curious, others indifferent. Every inch of the composition is layered, as if hundreds of stories, dreams, and symbols have been pressed into a single, shimmering medallion. Kemm’s use of collage here isn’t just decorative; it’s narrative architecture, each torn fragment or texture chosen with intent, sewn together like a myth stitched from forgotten books, folk tales, and subconscious urges. As the eye settles on the central figures of the scene, a story of sensuality and primal instinct begins to unfold. The woman, draped in feathers and leaves, wraps herself around the lion-faced creature with a gaze that is both seductive and sovereign. She might be a jungle queen or an ancient forest deity, but she is no mere ornament. Her presence commands, seduces, and guards—drawing the viewer into a wild Eden where innocence has long been devoured by instinct. In this embrace, desire and domination intertwine with a fierce kind of protection, blurring the lines between predator and prey, god and guardian.

Beyond them, the landscape tells another tale: one of nature slowly reclaiming civilization. Crumbling stone archways and moss-covered ruins peek through the dense foliage, relics of a world once ruled by order now overrun by the unrelenting beauty of chaos. The path that leads through these remains winds toward the fountain—the heart of this realm. Its waters shimmer with possibility, as if carrying the essence of life itself. Perhaps it is a source of inspiration, or a symbol of the sacred feminine, quietly pulsing at the center of all things, feeding this strange garden with its eternal rhythm. Encircling the entire vision is not merely a frame but a portal, rich with barbed ornamentation and gem-like blossoms. It is the threshold between two realms: the familiar and the fantastical. It evokes the precision of illuminated manuscripts or the cryptic geometry of alchemical diagrams, as if what lies within is not meant for ordinary eyes. To step beyond that border is to leave behind logic and enter a mythic tapestry where everything—every flower, feather, and flicker of gold—whispers of stories long buried but never forgotten.

In The Fountain, Kemm doesn’t just invite you to look—he dares you to enter. It’s a work that doesn’t unfold all at once, but offers pieces over time, rewarding the patient, the curious, and the imaginative with endless subplots in every corner. A wild tapestry of myth, eroticism, nature, and decay, this collage feels less like an artwork and more like a vision—torn from the collective unconscious and reassembled with reverent chaos.