“Layers, scratches, chaos—paint doesn’t cover, it reveals.”

Gustavo Bracco (Paraná, Entre Ríos) paints as if time were breaking into pieces. Acrylics, aerosols, crayon—color screaming, lines scratching, words floating in the noise. His works don’t explain; they spit, they pulse. Identity, chaos, memory—layers upon layers, like the city, like history. His pieces have found a home in Mexico, New York, Spain, and Italy, but his language is universal. Bracco doesn’t seek order; he lets the painting breathe, lets the mistake stay, lets the paint speak for itself.