I become absorbed in the marginal whenever nothing seems able to contain the essential... I persuade myself of the importance of embracing the sensation of nothingness, and that I can raise a world in defiance of it through the materials that grant me their spirit and their form... Time slips past me, and I always feel that I am drowning in its eternity, especially when I am in the company of clay, of colors, of cement, and other malleable substances... Each material is capable of posing its own questions, of unveiling its inner beauty in a sense that is implicit rather than literal...

I believe that everything rests upon subjectivity, impermanence, and utterly personal visions.

I place less trust in what is fixed, for experience, and at times "coincidence"  has taught me to notice the transformation of forms. Such transformations propose outcomes without equal. 

The metamorphosis of time itself has carried me into realms for which I was unprepared, both materially and emotionally.

When I used to sit in a hospital waiting room, I had to reconcile myself with waiting, to accept the dissipation of time there, and to embrace the notion that I still possessed time, and the full ability to fill it with creation. It was then that I discovered another dimension of “beauty”: the beauty of the moment and of discovery, the beauty of holding fast to hope and to life. Those moments were unique they pierced the heart to inflame it further, or else left within it their genetic cells. In those hours, I entrusted myself with the task of transforming any mass into an act of creation even the mass of time, or of sorrow, or of emptiness.

I would steal glances at the faces around me and preserve them in my memory. More often than not, sadness and bewilderment or despair and anxiety were the most insistent feelings that hovered over them. I held those impressions within my imagination as well... And when I returned home, those faces would appear to me as companions of the long silence. 

Therefore, I resolved to paint them, as my final testimony to those moments that bound us together without the exchange of a single word, moments in which perhaps we even avoided each other’s eyes, lest our expressions betray us.

 

Some of those eyes are here, and others remain in words, in poems, and in feelings...