In my research, there is an image that I always wish to keep in mind: that of a sculptor shaping clay. In certain situations, to achieve specific forms, the sculptor must use support to prevent the work from collapsing. During the creative process, he borrows the first useful object he finds, whether it be a piece of wood, rope, or iron, thus building a soul.
The movement of a curtain moved by a woman peeking out of her home, the scratch of a needle skipping on a record after someone drunkenly bumps into it, or the clinking of two glasses on a wobbly table during a dinner when two lovers kiss: all these elements become the clay of my works, while the sculpture I create is nothing more than the structure, the soul that supports the clay.
My creative process aligns with the contemporary society's approach to various software. For example, when we send a photo to a friend, we take a picture with our smartphone, open an app to create a meme, and then another app to send the photo. These steps require the choice of tools based on functionality and speed. Similarly, I utilize materials with the same readiness, choosing tape in any color, the nearest piece of wood, or the most accessible motor, depending on availability, to recreate the sounds, gestures, or emotions that come from the world.
I pay particular attention to sound, influenced by Michael Schafer's essay “Soundscape.” I often start from everyday sounds, like a bored child making bubbles with a straw in a glass while his parents scrolls through Instagram, or the sound of rain, which changes depending on the context. In Kibera, Nairobi, the rain sounds different from the concrete jungle of New York. These sounds are “metaphorically” taken from the world, and in a nearly desperate and imperfect process, I seek to evoke the emotion of a moment when a drop of rain hits a metal sheet.
The constructive process I use recalls the figure of the bricoleur mentioned by the philosopher Telmo Pievani. "The process of evolution resembles that of a 'bricoleur'," Pievani states, describing how nature operates through trials, creating imperfect beings. For instance, many humans suffer from back pain due to bipedalism, which has introduced imperfections into our anatomy. We are not perfect machines, and this imperfection carries significant evolutionary advantages. Similarly, my process is like drawing with a permanent marker, where errors cannot be erased, but you must draw over them, leaving traces of mistakes.
My practice evokes this intrinsic imperfection of nature. I do not wish for viewers of my sculptures to think directly about the evolution of Homo sapiens when they see a moving curtain; it is rather my perspective on the world, influenced by science, sociology, philosophy, and anthropology, that guides my work. I find this imperfection poetic and meaningful; every error and attempt contributes to a unique journey, reflecting the very essence of creation and what makes us human.
"All of my installations/sculptures submitted for the competition are site-specific and, inevitably, they are never identical to themselves. The main image is the one that most closely represents the proposal for the Arte Laguna exhibition and illustrates what the work would look like if selected. The other images are examples of the same work in different contexts."
