Nothing is so steeped in lived moments, memories, as our old clothes, even if, for a variety of reasons, at some point in our lives that shirt or that particular pair of pants we wear for the last time and then forget about it in a drawer or in a sack in the basement of our house.
Now deprived of a body where we can lay down it seems that they no longer have any use, even though we could argue that somehow these clothes have left an imprint, a mark or a shadow in the history of our lives.
My goal from the start in this work was to attempt to put on canvas the story that my old clothes would like to tell, through their folds, decals, laces, buttons and every detail that makes them up. A story that enclosed in a rectangle 193 cm high and 65 cm wide, the spatial dimensions of my body, is an overlay of sometimes ill-defined moments and situations that to date have formed my persona.
Where the imprint of a hood overlaps the collar of a T-shirt or the pocket of a pair of pants, where darker stains and saturated black paint marks attempt to be the mirror of days, weeks and years sometimes beautiful sometimes dark, it emerges how this mass of fabric and threads has unknowingly accompanied and protected me without getting anything in return.
Now deprived of a body where we can lay down it seems that they no longer have any use, even though we could argue that somehow these clothes have left an imprint, a mark or a shadow in the history of our lives.
My goal from the start in this work was to attempt to put on canvas the story that my old clothes would like to tell, through their folds, decals, laces, buttons and every detail that makes them up. A story that enclosed in a rectangle 193 cm high and 65 cm wide, the spatial dimensions of my body, is an overlay of sometimes ill-defined moments and situations that to date have formed my persona.
Where the imprint of a hood overlaps the collar of a T-shirt or the pocket of a pair of pants, where darker stains and saturated black paint marks attempt to be the mirror of days, weeks and years sometimes beautiful sometimes dark, it emerges how this mass of fabric and threads has unknowingly accompanied and protected me without getting anything in return.
This is how the concept of Sensible Matter took shape in my work, sensitivity in trying to restore life and soul to clothes made of seemingly dead matter but with the capacity to absorb memories, memories that I tried to pull out, at times make appear, through a sign in reality.and nothing in return.
