Laberinto de tesoros, 2026

The surface seems to think. It’s not just color: it’s a question stretched out in matter. Each stroke undulates as if doubting its own form, as if searching for the precise point where reality ceases to be fixed and begins to be possibility. The marks explain nothing, but they suggest that order is nothing more than a temporary agreement between unknown forces. Everything vibrates in a state prior to meaning, as if the world has not yet decided what it wants to be. We are the consciousness that transforms chaos into meaning, the gaze that transforms the scattered into a comprehensible instant. Perhaps that is philosophy: recognizing that what we see is not the truth, but the dialogue between what exists and what we are capable of perceiving.