Things should be a little more clear for me but all I have come up with as a name for this exhibition is an alias of one of my works, Metonimia Familiar, which, to give you some idea, consists of vibrant accumulations of lines with their own colour, materiality and volume in close contact with the wall. When I said to myself —”Metofam”— I imagined a fantastic scene in which the colour of these accumulations had faded and they had fallen upside down. Yes, it’s sad. There was also something like death-metal playing in the background, but let’s not get depressed, it can always get worse… right? This image persisted and persisted, but little could I have imagined that life itself would take such a turn in my city, sweeping away the usual springtime atmosphere of its streets. Seizing the occasion I would like to recall a few lines by Golpes Bajos like “¡Malos tiempos—Para la lírica!… (Bad times—for lyricism)” or “Estoy enfermo—Cómo envejezco (I’m sick—Growing so old) [I always hear cómo me-quejo (how I-complain)]” and unfortunately the most relevant, “Me lloran los ojos—Al abrirlos a la realidad (My eyes cry—on opening them to reality)” to underline on the other hand that this music is a real party, that there is joy somewhere in its depths. And so, if our eyes don’t cry on opening them to reality and we´re up for taking a look around the gallery (if they do cry I would recommend it even more), we will come across a series of medium-large size reliefs and drawings (MTF I-XII) made by hand with a lot of suffering and hard work (but also pleasure and enjoyment), some during this strange period and others beforehand, plus some notes and drawings dating from 2019-20, disclosing, on a smaller scale, some of the methods carried over from sculpture and lets hope that not from other more affected fields in these times when everything has turned so viral.

In most of them volumetric lines appear as an internal weft or weave, simultaneously mediating the gap between one piece and another. The works are composed of materials that mark a directional limit, that are somehow able to tell me what they need, how to treat them in themselves and in relation to others. With this simple pretext I begin following clues, hoping to allow breathing-space for each discovery, praying that the dragon won´t interfere too much, but partially bringing him into service. I admit this starting point serves as a resistance to the body´s engine which gives impulse and overflows it; to one’s own hands which think and desire in as much as they labour. The margin of error —what overcomes the resistance— is what gives off a sort of expression or reality. At the end of the day I see these works as exercises in spatial memory and awareness (mnemotechny), understanding space in this case as a vector of affectivity common to all plastic elements which appear on scene; a vector which transcends and mediates the discordances and resonances of each body. Speaking of bodies I want to make clear that there is not some physical dragon that you can come and see in my studio, but the imaginary one does sometimes make itself a bit too noticeable.

I hope all that science fiction won´t surpass the reality of whatever one may feel here. Congruence, just like perfection, would be —if it were possible to define— a strange thing; if it were to appear anywhere, it would strike an artist as an authentic miracle and they wouldn´t be able to give credit to such a sudden and fleeting apparition. In fact the most unsuspected encounters tend to shed light on it all the more frequently, but we have to be just as ready for whatever is given off by excess (see, for instance, the feeling of vertigo in Ulrich’s somewhat undefined experiment—in The Man Without Qualities— and the ambiguous use he makes of the word precision). No, we won´t be pointing towards overly concrete motives here either, but rather a confluence of mixed fixations. I like it when lines become strips and take on the appearance of plastic elements with their own history and typology. I like it when thirst for brightness is quenched thanks to the reaction of a shiny surface. I like constructive drawing and the play-of-scales, which differentiates, condensates the surrounding space in different gestalts (gestations of form). I like it when each piece, diptych or series comes about like a typographic figure in an unknown series; but there are days when Gestalt also cries out “I’m a monster with giant curls! — I’m the nightmare you had after that last opening!” I love it (and often think it’s a fucking pain) when something appears that I hadn’t expected. Oh well, relax. Materially at least, everything transforms, gets back on track. Literally as well as metaphorically it would be ultimately about making the inside of the works dialogue with their outside, evincing as well as silencing and attenuating the process that generates them, to which we could make a further allusion with the following list:

(By clockwise entry, appearing in the exhibition space) MTF I Dibujo espacial I; Rabbit-skin glue, adhesive tape and black ink on linen stretcher — MTF II Quadrilobe; Wooden cross, strips of aluminium and carbon-fibre painted with resin — MTF III Fields; Smoothed galvanized wire laminated with epoxy resin, adhesive tape and oil-bar— MTF IV-VI Espacio serial I; Rabbit-skin glue, wire combined with adhesive tape and linen on stretcher (three parts)— MTF VII Díptico superpuesto; aluminium profiles surrounded by 3mm rod and adhesive tape adhered to two wooden stretchers — MTF VIII Frottage; Graphite on linen on stretcher — MTF IX Tool; Smoothed and bent iron bar, tape drawing framed with double glass— MTF X Epifanía; Green wax on adhesive tape and galvanized wire — MTF XI Dibujo espacial II; Frame-box with passepartout and drawing with adhesive tape and black ink — MTF XII Espacio serial II; Three stretchers, linen and thermosealed adhesive tape.

Discarded ending to an in-hall leaflet: Share my strange longing for an event that almost everyone I know tends to lack enough will for (I would be among the first of those). As they say, we only realize what we have when it’s gone. Thank you for coming. L.B