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This exhibition hopes to have the viewer as a companion for a walk through environments and moments in which getting lost is as easy as it is logical. The views offered are subjected to the light of a cowardly, hidden sun, filtered and multiplied that erases our shadow on the road and disorients us, leaving us almost blind. We know that there is a sun because of its ardor, we know about the terrain because of the setbacks and attacks of what awaits us in the blindness; we know about the landscape because of the fear of what we cannot control, absolute otherness that curves so that we return again and again.
The work, technically very simple; acrylic, ink and old brushes, poses this walk without searching but full of encounters. The white that is the background of all these works is the solar plenitude of everything that surrounds us, partially revealing itself according to the steps we take. We will never go through the same place twice although we will always wander in the same environment. And we will always find fragments that will inevitably convulse into scenes.

These scenes lack story. His time is a continuous present as sharp as suffocation. We must adapt to them without impositions or prejudices; Participate in its shadows and echoes to stumble, poke us and skin us with its twisted vegetation. Obligation and right of every witness, are scenes that we_cc781905-4-bb3b319 -136bad5cf58d_show to observe them but above all to remember them. We jump the fact of understanding, of delimiting an accommodative perimeter that is not useless. I mean placing these scenes directly in our memory, home where we really are. Where we can understand life and the one we attend to with each breath. Lugar where the fact is experience before magnitude. Without judgment. Because in these scenes, in these environments traced by our erratic pace, we are witnesses of necessity and its bubbles. Despair blows over everyone, twisting trees and burning us while still sheltered. And cruelty is suddenly justified in these páramos… “there is no other choice” is carved into the rocks. What is vital for survival merges with bites without hunger in some dark corners with slightly rotten smiles. The pleasures, still deformed in twisted pinches, remain the rhythm for our pulse.

But everything ends at some point. No matter how much misery crushes us, it always runs out and turns to again lukewarmly illuminate us in what is known as abundance. The good times. And although we know the reasons that led us to such a racket, although we can tell their story if we want, we always forget everything. We prepare to burn again in blinding whiteness. Memory is the only home where we can understand to live. That is where I have tried (always tried) to hang these pictures. The door of the gallery invites us to finally go out and continue with our daily life, whatever it may be.