Materials that are
withdrawn from waste and hit me powerfully deep inside. Colors touched by
the sun, "smoothed" by the wind. Textures sculpted by
the imponderable. Objects of time, that reveal to me as if they where always destined to be
assembled together, that way. Worthless objects that came to life, bits of chance,
after all, the motor of my art. A Dadaistic philosophy, apparently
but that became my spinal cord, my second skin, my soul. With these found objects, I found
In my method genesis, is emotion.
This emotional state, witch has a philosophical origin in relation with
the world, and with objects in particular, builds a urge that
transcends me, and moves me to art.
assemblage, planes multiply refusing singularity. They project
themselves to the spectator, they manipulate, confuse and
I have given a pretty faithful
version of progress, law, morality and all other fine qualities that
various highly intelligent men have discussed in so many books, only to
conclude that after all everyone dances to his own personal boomboom,
and that the writer is entitled to his boomboom: the satisfaction of
am not a revolutionary, I am not a reformer, I am not neutral. I
embrace the cause but free of flying, in my own terms. My palette its the city space, were I find lost rejected objects
that I assemble
and harmonize. Time, imponderability and chance, these laws that
rules the universe, mixes colors and chape textures. I declare: Duchamp
creates the Universe.
I don't have to tell you that for
the general public and for you, the refined public, a Dadaist is the
equivalent of a leper. But that is only a manner of speaking. When these
same people get close to us, they treat us with that remnant of elegance
that comes from their old habit of belief in progress. At ten yards
distance, hatred begins again. If you ask me why, I won't be able to
tell you. Everybody knows that Dada is nothing. I broke away from Dada
and from myself as soon as I understood the implications of *nothing.*
is the most controversial artistic concept of the history of art. It is
art desecration with inerasable consequences for the future
artists and art world itself.
in human self esteem, was devastating. As science and philosophy where
discovering, we where not gods. This painful process questions human
part in the universe.
by Marcel Duchamp
There is one thing that I want to
choice of these "ready-made" was
not dictated by aesthetic reasons. This
choice settles on a reaction of
visual indifference and simultaneously a total absence of good or
bad taste... in reality
a complete anesthesia.
my assemblages, crossing lines appear to obey to mathematical
purposes. This mondrianization, is one of the "method"
But these are not scientific principles. They're instinct, chance and emotion.
The "method" implies assuming imponderability as the main element of
the creative process. When I end the work I
found its not finished yet. It keeps evolving, in this triangular
relationship between the author, time and the spectator.