Thoughts


My ceramic work currently focuses on the human being, and sometimes on its integration with animals. I have gone through a logical process which is the manufacture of ceramic objects, which has lasted some years, in order to pass, or at least try to, to explain feelings. A difficult thing, since behind a face or the figure of a child, a young woman or a man, behind their kind form, I always look for irony, complacency, the absurd. I intend to teach something very obvious, but which, at the same time, says something more to those who look at them or own them.

For a long time I have given up copying nature in its mineral or plant form, since she always wins. Nothing can compare to the colors of the earth, the texture of the shells or the smoothness of the stones, I just touch and look. In my work as a ceramics teacher, I try to make my students see, interpret and respect the wonderful result of the act of mixing the materials and transforming them in the kiln, and through this process they find a personal creative path.

Yes, I like people’s faces, whether they are adults or children, their eyes and their mouths are so expressive that I try to paralyze them, retain them and make them eternal, within the eternity that gives us the clay. Honestly, I would like them not to remain simply as a decorative anecdote, but to convey tremendously human feelings.

My quiet little girls and the beings I create sometimes become independent, they don’t respond to what I want to explain, and I leave them, they know better than anyone else my state of mind, which is mine and theirs. Their independence fascinates me, I know perfectly well that it is the material I work with that conditions my work, but it is better to imagine than not, that you can be more free.

A small crease in the clay allows me to continue modeling very differently than designed.

I think I’m on a personal path, with a figurative tendency, which doesn’t bother me at all, I’ve already gone through abstraction in other times. It is as if I returned to my origins which were drawing and painting.

Girl, when you hear me your hair turns red, and I need carmine dye to give it its shade, the curve of your mouth is cut with a knife and your eyes remind me of many others I’ve glimpsed, to which iron oxide and feldspar give luster.

Go up, don’t fall, hold on, molded, my little work, little boy seen in Burma, Africa or Barcelona. Smile and look puzzled at this absurd world. How lucky, made of clay, you contain much of the matter of our universe, but you do not suffer, paralyzed and insensible you represent well or badly what I mean, that you are sad, manipulated and tortured, that parts of your body are missing and of your soul..

Half of the body is enough, more is not necessary. If it is expressive, sometimes a single eye, but almost always I find sadness in your features. Smile, won’t you?. Okay, me neither, I’m also sad like you, yes you, little girl, you are victim and aggressor at the same time, restless, merciless or tender, you move within me. Impotence and limitations, I don’t want to model you, I want to express hatred, sorrow, tenderness. I want to squeeze the clay, I want to mold you, I want to express hate, sorrow, tenderness, I want to squeeze the soft clay, make it pass through my fingers, fight with matter, value its expressiveness . Not to speak figuratively, let me be hard like you and dictate my rules, but Oven, tell him not to move, or break, tell him that my experience gives him life, that you love him as I, who give her color and harden her, tell her that she is beautiful and strong and that we both love her and that she will surely live longer than us..

The man in his paper hat and his exotic bird stares blankly, king of nothing. Two figures with make-up and one without remind me of the Chinese Opera actors’ dressing room. Four eyes look tender, just like the little bird in their head. The boy and his dog are little kings when they walk around their neighborhood. Children taken out of their context ride on clay horses..

“Normal” children who play without playing, who look without looking, who smile without smiling and who talk without speaking. Adopted little girls, little dolls that we also see taken from their origin, who quietly await their future.

All my characters, those who suffer and those who are happy, give me a reason so that every day when I open the oven, I feel better and everything regains its meaning, although as I said before, I just wish I could tighten the matter, mix it, give it color, transform it and see what happens, but surely the result would be so modest, that it would be of no use, and I would run out to find it at its origin, the earth, the sand, the stones, plants, water and everything that moves me.