Posts Tagged ‘limits’

“RUPTURE”

February 18, 2026

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Ricardo F. Morín
New York Series, Nº 11
54″ x 84″
Oil on canvas
1989

Ricardo F Morín

January 1, 2026

Oakland Park, Fl

The work began within a relationship marked by companionship and solidarity.  Attention to language, discipline, and restraint developed through shared effort rather than assertion of authority.  Standards were learned through proximity, conversation, and time.  Whatever shape the writing later assumed did not arise in isolation; it took form within sustained exchange oriented toward craft.

For a time, that arrangement held.  Growth moved in a common direction.  Guidance clarified rather than constrained.  Correction sharpened rather than narrowed.  At that stage, there was no reason to imagine that continuation would require anything other than more work.

As the writing developed, friction appeared without a clear source.  Questions emerged that did not settle easily.  Revisions accumulated without resolving what they were meant to address.  What had once felt like refinement began to feel like adjustment, though the difference was not immediately clear.  The work continued, but with more hesitation.

Gratitude complicated recognition.  What had been received was evident and could not be denied.  To question the present form of the relation felt premature, even ungrateful.  Endurance seemed preferable to interruption, especially while uncertainty could still be explained as part of growth.

Over time, small signs accumulated.  Decisions were postponed.  Directions shifted after agreement.  Suggestions were acknowledged but returned unchanged.  The writing slowed.  Nothing dramatic occurred, but progress no longer felt proportionate to effort.

Attempts were made to restore balance.  Clarifications were offered.  Adjustments were accepted.  The hope was that refinement of terms might recover the earlier ease of movement.  Instead, the same tension reappeared, differently framed, without resolving what had prompted it.

At a certain point, the difficulty could no longer be treated as temporary.  Continuing began to require forms of accommodation that altered how judgment operated while writing.  Choices were made to preserve the relation rather than the work.  What was being protected became harder to name.

Recognition did not arrive as certainty.  It arrived as a limit.  There were things the work could no longer do without distortion.  There were directions it could no longer take without resistance that did not diminish over time.

Rupture followed hesitation, delay, and resistance.  It did not resolve anything cleanly.  It ended a form of continuity that had once been formative.  What was relinquished was not gratitude, but dependence.  What remained was the work itself, now proceeding without mediation.

The cost of rupture was not conflict, but exposure.  Standards had to be held without reinforcement.  Decisions could no longer be deferred.  Failure, if it came, would no longer be shared.

Nothing in the rupture erased what had been learned.  It marked the point at which learning could no longer continue in the same form.  What followed was not freedom in the abstract, but authorship in the strict sense:  judgment carried without shelter.


“REFUSAL”

February 4, 2026
Ricardo F. Morín
My Nest
24′”x30″
Oil on linen
1999

Ricardo F. Morín

January 1, 2026

Oakland Park, Fl

Help was not offered casually.  It was offered over time,   shaped by history,   familiarity,   and a belief that loyalty required staying present when circumstances were unsettled.  Unclear commitments were accepted with the expectation that steadiness might compensate for instability,   and that patience would allow clarity to arrive where it had not yet appeared.

As time passed,   those commitments became harder to anticipate.  Plans shifted after they were accepted.  Expectations changed without being stated.  What had been agreed to one week was revised the next.  Each adjustment was absorbed rather than challenged.  Meetings no longer produced decisions.  Agreements no longer survived the week.  The effort to remain fair became an effort to remain adaptable.  What was not confronted was carried.

There was hesitation in naming what was occurring.  Doing so felt severe.  It risked appearing uncharitable or impatient.  Silence often seemed preferable to objection,   not because nothing was seen,   but because what was seen resisted easy articulation.  Silence,   once a form of restraint,   had ceased to clarify anything.  Endurance appeared safer than judgment.

Gradually,   the effects of that endurance became visible.  Loyalty did not stabilize the situation.  It prolonged it.  The more uncertainty was accommodated,   the more it became the organizing condition.  Commitments lost their edges.  Responsibility dispersed.  Care,   extended without limit,   ceased to correct anything and instead made instability easier to sustain.

At one point,   a friend chose a different posture.  He remained attentive,   but at a distance.  He did not intervene repeatedly or attempt to steady what showed no sign of holding.  At the time,   that distance was easy to misread.  Commitment,   as it was then understood,   appeared to require proximity.  Restraint looked like withdrawal.

Only later did the significance of that posture become clear.  What had appeared passive was a form of orientation.  Limits had been recognized earlier,   and conduct adjusted accordingly.  Distance had not signaled indifference,   but an understanding that presence,   under unstable conditions,   does not always improve outcomes.  The difference lay not in intention,   but in timing.

This recognition unsettled earlier assumptions.  Proximity had been mistaken for responsibility.  Endurance had been treated as virtue without asking whether it was sustaining anything beyond the appearance of care.  What felt like loyalty had,   in part,   become permission.  The most difficult admission was not about the actions of others,   but about the role played in allowing those actions to continue without consequence.

Distance did not follow immediately.  It came after repeated attempts to restore proportion,   after explanations failed to hold,   and after silence ceased to clarify anything.  Withdrawing was not a rejection of concern.  It was the only remaining way to prevent concern from being consumed by unpredictability.  It was a way of preserving judgment, preventing concern from being consumed by unpredictability, and leaving open the possibility that conditions might yet change

Refusal,   understood in this way,   is not dramatic.  It does not accuse or announce itself.  It does not seek recognition.  It withdraws consent quietly and allows arrangements either to stabilize or to reveal their own limits.  What ends is not care,   but participation in conditions that require self-deception to endure.

This form of refusal is not moral superiority.  It is responsibility turned inward.  It begins when remaining present requires abandoning one’s own judgment,   and when loyalty,   left unchecked,   undermines what it was meant to protect.  Silence,   at that point,   does not evade obligation.  It restores coherence.

The act is restrained.  Its consequences are durable.  By stepping back,   one ceases to supply the energy on which instability depends.  What remains intact is judgment without foreclosing the possibility of renewal should proportion be restored.  What is relinquished is the belief that endurance is always ethical—and refusal becomes the means by which clarity, rather than rupture, is maintained.


“An Agreement to Disagree”

January 10, 2026

Ricardo F. Morín
An Agreement to Disagree
Watercolor, gouache, whiteout and black ink on paper
14″x20″
2005

Ricardo F. Morín

January 9, 2026

Oakland Park, Fl

Some antagonisms call not for vindication, but for clarity  

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Our exchange revealed not a disagreement to be resolved, but a misalignment that could not be repaired through further argument.  What initially appeared as an analytical difference gradually disclosed a deeper divergence in how understanding itself was approached.  At that point, explanation no longer clarified and began to obscure.  

There are moments in life when antagonistic relationships must be confronted not to prevail, but to discern limits.  Not every challenge is an invitation to engage, and not every assertion of authority merits reply.  When discourse shifts from inquiry to self-assertion, the task is no longer persuasion, but recognition—of what can be shared, what cannot, and when distance becomes a form of integrity rather than withdrawal.  

Disengagement, understood in these terms, is not an abdication of reason, nor a retreat from rigor.  It is an acknowledgment that intellectual authority does not arise from moral superiority, from the accumulation of sources, or from the insistence on being recognized as correct.  Authority that cannot tolerate limits undermines itself by the very posture it adopts.  

Disengagement, then, is neither silence nor concession.  It is a turning away that carries weight:  liberating and disappointing, real and poignant.  It offers no solace, yet affirms life itself by refusing to persist in distortion.  What remains is not victory, but truth preserved through restraint.  

Authority intolerant of limits succumbs to hubris for its own sake.