I have always been fascinated by the needle, drawn by its magic power. A needle is used to repair damage. It is the recognition of forgiveness.
I can’t remember when I started working with thread, having an eye for cloth and fabric and searching for the image I’d like to cut out, sew and keep for myself. Neither can I remember whether I did this so as to liberate these delicate objects from anonymity or because by doing so I was able to store them in a drawer of my memory.
I am unsure whether I began to feel fragility before I was into cutting up and sewing, or if it arose while I chose fabrics and threads. I would rather say that I have been working with fabric forever, with threads, with a needle, with small cardboard boxes –trying to give a visual shape to concepts I struggle to explain in words. The fragmentation of reality, the suspension of a way of living, the fragility. These three –at the very least– the Now that flos with constant presents. I don’t see them as any different to how I imagine the daily tasks which take over my small home. I sort out, I put some order, I contain. My glance is the same for each and every object around me –virtually invisible for all their constant presence. They subtly transform behind it, they put themselves in order, while at the same time they achieve prominence –each becomes again and finds its own place.
I sew what is separate –the needle helps me draw order. It links fragments, while at the same time it clears a path of stitches that remind us of what bound it together. I hang objects from a thread: floating in the air they appear subjected, imprisoned, tied up.
It is my way –their way– of existing. If only someone liberated them. If only they could fly, unshackled, without anything awaiting them. The temptation of setting them free arises –why, it is so easy to do so. Nevertheless, I see no point in existing without attachments, without being bound to something.
Like a flower: the stem binds it, yet feeds it. Up to what extent the thread which binds us is part of a plot we ourselves have sewn in order to take refuge from loneliness? They suggest the sensation of floating, of imprisonment and of refuge all at once.
Through the physical suspension of objects I wish to establish a direct relation with the fragmentation of existence –a poetic reading of the fragmentation of memory; the search for the balance between an object’s sculptural value and poetry. Material-wise, I give continuity to my creative process of interrelation between different artistic languages and performance.
BIBLIOTECA JUAN DE MENA DE TORRELAGUNA, Torrelaguna 2013