I’m not interested in perfection. I don’t like it, and I don’t seek it. There’s something cold and inhuman about it, and besides, I think it offers a very short journey. I don’t even believe it has enough spark to be called “enjoyment.”
What moves me is emotion. What can’t be defined by words. To me, that’s the greatness of a creation: it speaks its own language, without needing translation. It doesn’t get exhausted in explanations or concepts.
As Clarice Lispector said, “I’m not going to be logical or coherent. I will be true.”
I don’t plan or force the pieces. I catch signals that call my attention. I follow the trail. I have fun with the game. I let myself be carried away. I try to put just the right amount of head and all of my soul into it. I like for them to talk to me, tell me things, make me dream.
I don’t want them to be born exhausted, closed, or forced to be just one thing. I want them to have soul, to breathe, to be free.
I care that a piece is open. That it opens doors, sparks something inside, and from there, each person begins their own journey. Like ships that leave the same port but never sail the same sea.
John Berger said: “The relationship between what we see and what we know is never fully resolved.”
That’s what interests me: creating objects that cannot be solved, that don’t close, that touch you without explaining why.
Imperfect pieces. Honestly alive. With their own language that has no translation, understood with the body. It’s known.
It’s not about perfection or the obvious; it’s about what vibrates, what resonates.
Each piece has its own rhythm, its own journey. And if you’re lucky enough to connect with it, you’ll be part of that journey, though you can never predict where it will take you.
To be continued...