Estados indefinidos para una existencia

Installation. Environmental Dimension.

Due to being inside the Exhibition Space, the underground space, from its bowel, the air weighted like the dark and damped rooms from the Cidros house, at Córdoba’s heart. I want to engage in a meaningful dialogue with the house’s life in which I have got my studio and where I dwell most of my existence. It is a significantly old house, poor, where humble beings always lived, a very cold and old house, of Arabic typology with more than 300 years old, an enormous and squared house containing eight small dwellings around a central courtyard.

A school for impoverished children, around 1900, used to be in that courtyard, without a roof, only under the shelter of awnings. I have already seen three friends die here, but, as far I am concerned (I pick it up in my diaries, and it is Estados Indefinidos heart), I know of the history and events of more than twenty families who lived and breathed here. Hence, through objects, the internal and heavy emptiness of the deepness, with that I aim to unite and sew glances, to introduce imagined experiences, to call their former inhabitants, to create new identities to live here with me, in an underground space. It is number 18. It is Cidros number 18.

I brought doors, windows, side doors and glass, remains of walls and chairs, and hundreds of documents and papers. Mirrors. They build up new self-portraits. In addition, some of the same items have also been purchased at Lucca’s markets. Doors, uninhabited tables, like desks and receptacles, pulled out, stripped of context and joined back again, will be beds, a place to rest, vertical graves, a huge thalamus full of coffins, but they will remain as doors, tables and desks and books and papers, still linked to our lives, even if they don’t remain into the future. Papers and fragments of books, texts, writings and drawings, dirty newspapers, which are scattered on the floor, of folders where we have stored messages so that they do not get infected with the plague. But folders and files are eternally closed. Sewned and glued together. We must imagine, perceive, interrogate, believe.