Texts
Lo que falta*
*”Lo que falta” in Spanish has an ambiguous meaning. In temporal terms, it's the time remaining for something to happen. In spatial terms, it's the absence of something that is no longer there.
59 x 42 cm images
Can you hear it?
I try to inhale the gust of wind that produces the whistle. I had thought about it before, about the faculty of breathing to change the perception of space-time. Although that time I was surrounded by the seasons. Now it's different. It feels different. Ascending the mountain and subjecting oneself to the altitude. An exercise in resizing. And the body, it moves. A measuring mechanism.
A little.
It's almost there.
And although it's almost there, it seems endless. It widens. Both the landscape and my lungs. The smooth stone that once held the snow seems to reproduce in every direction. Just as I imagine my lungs do every time I fill them with so much effort.
A little.
It's almost there.
That's what we tell ourselves with each gesture with which we limit our communication. At that altitude, one usually avoids excessive efforts. And using words demands quite an effort. That's why the hand gesture, trying to give dimension to the small through the void created by the approach of my fingers. Measuring. Lo que falta. With fingers, with feet. With the body. That moves. What's missing? How much time is left? It's ambiguous, isn't it? Lo que falta, what's about to come. Lo que falta, what will never return. Everything that condenses between these two possibilities fits in the small space of my fingers trying to give quantity of time to space. Or space duration to time. The same, yet different. It feels different. At this altitude, everything is so ambiguous. What would Krauss have been measuring between his fingers, the Pan de Azúcar, the sky? Surely it wasn't the amount of snow. No. Seventy years and the space between the fingers, apparently equidistant, has witnessed a thaw that now pronounces itself as a sentence. And of course, since words demand so much effort at these heights, the mountain prefers to whistle.
Can you hear it?
A little.
It's almost there.
Cyanotype - 59 x 42 cm / 2024
Cyanotype - 59 x 42 cm / 2024