Saying goodbye is not easy. It is almost never –although there are liberating farewells– but all the negative is magnified when the separation to be faced is the last, the irreparable. However, the painter Antonio Zarco –Born in Madrid in 1930 and died in the same city on November 7– He has been preparing us for those we have for his old friends so that we can get here with a certain serenity. In recent years there have been so many notices, the sudden alarm bells at unforeseen times, the calls made by the old teacher, with a voice more cascading each day, warning of a new hospital admission, or a sudden worsening, that It was beginning to happen to the wolf of the story: Antonio would come out ahead, his indomitable vitality would bring him afloat so that he would continue to put us on alert for a long time
But now he is serious, and his tired heart has raised the flag of surrender. We know that he deserved rest, but with us is the man he has been. Not the great painter, nor the magnificent engraver, nor the professor, nor the artistic personality, nor his encyclopedic facet. Under all that, he leaves us his humanity, his great contradictions, his intimate wood of rural country socarron that had to be accommodated in the body of an urbanite from Madrid of humble origins, his sudden leaps from the most exalted optimism to the most self-absorbed pessimism. It's been a while since you've gone completely, friend, we've said goodbye calmly, and we've wished with all our might that you've crossed the threshold of the infinite in peace.
Sign the in memoriam C. Fernández-Villamil and other friends of Antonio.