How are you? Let´s go with a new edition of the project Home curated by Wai Kit Lam. In these hot days we have a selection of artist with very refreshing proposals.

Let’s start with Ian Wieczorek, a British artist based in Ireland. His proposal, Insula, transforms an isolated pillar into a metaphor for a remote island nation detached from the mainland.

Ian’s work explores contemporary cultural experience and the transactional relationships between the individual and the global.

By challenging preconceived notions of geography, belonging, and home, the work—paradoxically exhibited on the land of a large neighbouring island—foregrounds tensions surrounding identity, sovereignty, and cultural proximity.

The next proposal is by Rachel Pennington, a British artist who has been living in southwest France since 2001.

Rachel explains that her work was born when an exhibition at a local château came to an end:

“I was in this grand room, a solitary plinth in place. It seemed appropriate to create a specific piece for this exhibition, referencing the plinth itself as a symbol of home and identity. I moved the plinth to dance through the space, using stop-frame photography.

Home can become so heavy and laden with meaning, especially when confronting the challenge of life in a new country. We examine and redefine our cultural identity as well as our physical sense of belonging.

We can feel constantly homeless, yet also liberated to find a different sense of belonging within ourselves, not tied to a specific physical space.

I think the art of dancing lightly through life is the ultimate challenge, greatly underestimated and most definitely something to aspire to.”

The Dancing Plinth by Rachel Pennington.

Next artist is Adriana Cerecero a Mexican Spanish artist. Her work, El Hogar es Donde Existo (Home is Where I Exist (2026) transforms a plain white pillar into a reflection of lived experience, suggesting that home is not just a place, but where we can authentically exist.

I open my eyes to a new home; Abro los ojos a un nuevo hogar,

the environment is now an island el medio ahora es una Isla,

my own island, where the wind mi propia island, donde el viento

blows freedom everywhere, sopla la libertad por todas partes

even though it brings consequences. aunque traiga consigo las consecuencias

When night falls, I close my eyes al llegar la noche, cierro los ojos

and retreat into it. y me recluyo en ella.

May Ming Yu is an artist from Hong Kong who works mainly with ceramic.

Yu explores the meaning of home through the act of repair. Untitled (2022), a restored ceramic vessel, preserves the memory of its fracture, suggesting that home is defined not by perfection, but by healing, resilience, and renewal.

And to close today, I would like to introduce an artist duo Varvara & Mar, formed in 2009 by Mar from Spain, and Varvara from Estonia.

Their collaborative practice explores the intersections of art, technology, and society, often responding to the profound social transformations brought about by the digital age. Through their work, they engage with themes such as artificial intelligence, robotics, interactivity, and public participation.

In Worry (2026), Varvara & Mar use contrasting materials to express the complex emotions associated with home. Both a place of refuge and a source of burden, home is presented as something fragile yet worth protecting. Perched upon an isolated pillar, the work suggests that sustaining it requires both emotional strength and physical endurance.

That’s all for today.

There’s no summer break for the HOME project, so I’ll be back in six weeks to introduce the next group of artists.

See you then!

Hoy os voy a contar el proyecto en el que estuve trabajando la primavera pasada. Disfrute mucho con este proyecto y creo que todo fue un acto de rebeldía.

En esta sociedad, en la tener voz propia y salirte del carril de lo establecido como correcto está mal visto, me paro, respiro y miro hacia dentro para encontrar lo que quiero y expresarlo, desde el respeto, pero sin miedo.

¿Y qué pasa si me gusta el reggateon?

In this society, where having your own voice and stepping outside the lane of what is considered correct is frowned upon, I stop, breathe, and look inward to find what I want and express it, with respect, but without fear.

What if I like reggaeton?

A few days ago, in a song, I heard a phrase that really connects with what I want to express. It goes like this: “Every feeling has an expiration date; it’s better to avoid it before it hurts us.”

Transcendence. What does it mean to transcend? To manifest.

To exhale that intense, vivid scent that penetrates and spreads over a great distance.

Time is running out, and I have to give up dreams.

Time has stopped in my world, but the pages of the calendar keep falling.

Is it fear of death or fear of living? Why am I afraid to live?

Are my fears the limits I have to cross?

What if I am happy and it all ends? Fear of the passage of time, fear of growing, fear of aging, fear of others’ death. I am more afraid of others dying than of my own death.

Fear of failure.

Fear of losing everything, fear of being alone, fear of blossoming, fear of rejection, fear of being judged, fear of not fitting in.

I wonder why I am so afraid of what is to come, of the future. And no, I am not afraid of the future; I am afraid of missing that future from another, more distant future. It’s a wheel.

To prevent time from running so fast, I cling to the present. I make a few plans to avoid disappointment when they are fulfilled. When I buy a ticket to travel, I avoid planning what I will do; if I don’t get excited about the future, then I won’t feel disappointed when the trip comes to an end.

I find it hard to connect, or perhaps it is an exercise in using fewer words and more actions. I think that in the following paragraph I already drifted away from the center, from where I want to go.

You cling to what is familiar, to what once gave you pleasure, success, or satisfaction. You know that the steps you followed in the past gave you satisfying results, so you repeat them. You move within that routine, within the familiar, in the comfort of repeating the same result that satisfies you (a success). But success lies in breaking limits, in failing, in making mistakes, in stepping into the unknown and trying something new, exploring new worlds, new streets, doing things differently even if you don’t like the result, and trying again without losing heart.

There is a lot of noise outside (at this moment, for me). People demand too much from me, too many offers, too much information, too much advertising: buy, buy, buy, I’ll give you this, free courses, ebooks, etc.—too much of everything. There are moments when I need to go under a tree, inhale that scent, and stop the noise, that bombardment of advertising, images, and gifts.

And every day I face a lot of fears that I overcome. Fear of getting out of bed, fear of leaving the house and having left something on. Fear that the phone rings and it’s bad news. Fear that a bomb explodes in the metro, like that June 7. Fear of heights. Fear of showing up, of receiving a “no” as an answer. Fear of becoming my mother, of drowning in her sea of fears. Living is this: facing these small fears every day and overcoming them.

You don’t overcome fear overnight, but you gradually gain ground. It’s a long-distance race. Every battle won is one step closer to full freedom; I expand, I take up more space, and at the same time I become lighter. Perhaps now those blurred images that look like an aura make sense. They are ephemeral, like golden dust, like fairy dust. Those fairies I believed in as a child, those fairies that touched me with their magic wand and turned my dreams into reality.

The Notebook of Small Acts of Rebellion.

I find it hard to write because perhaps words are no longer so necessary once I have defined the object I am working on. And now it’s time for small acts of rebellion; I have already started my notebook. In it, I write down the small things I do when I break through and cross my limits.

When I say NO because I want to say NO. When I do what I decide, not what is expected of me. When I say what I think, what I feel, without fear of being judged. After all, it is my truth. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but if I say what is expected of me, I hurt myself.

Perhaps there are few words because I don’t want to dwell on pain or sadness; I don’t want drama. I want to get up, look ahead, break those old patterns that don’t serve me. It’s not a rupture, it’s an evolution, it’s a blossoming. The greatest exercise this week was to feel, to become aware that we are moving forward.

I put all my cards on the table. And suddenly I realize that I am breathing again, without fear.

Continuará / To be continued.

Je tiens à vous remercier pour ce magnifique week-end de rencontres, d’échanges et de découvertes. Il a également été un peu chaud, mais cela a rendu l’expérience encore plus mémorable !

J’espère vous retrouver lors d’un prochain événement. D’ici là, vous pouvez découvrir et acquérir mes œuvres en ligne :

susana

´

Merci encore pour votre présence, votre intérêt et votre soutien.

À bientôt,

Susana Lopez F.

I met Kit for the first time in Berlin in 2009. We spent time together during an artist residency, and since then we have worked together on several projects.

Wai Kit Lam was born in Hong Kong. She studied between London and Hong Kong, and she now lives between both cities. Over the years, she has travelled across the world to work and exhibit her art.

Kit’s work explores identity, vulnerability, intimacy, and the way our experiences and surroundings shape us. Through photography and video art, she reflects on human connection, perception, and the beliefs that define us, often incorporating words and sound to create additional layers of meaning.

Unheld explores the concept of home through a fragile glass vessel inscribed with fragments of thought. Inspired by more than two decades of nomadic living, the work reflects a ritual of constant packing and unpacking — a process that became, over time, less physical than spiritual. Each departure a repair, each arrival a rebirth. The jar holds the emotions and memories that travel within: an inner home carried to every destination. Unheld, because while the vessel is always present, it is chosen over possessed — held by the soul, but not by the world.

Mirrored Identity Vulnerable Void Fallen Angel Abandonment

Nothingness Absorb Noise Fragments Dialogue Power​ Missing

Devour Purification Fullness Emptiness Hallowed Lightness

Presence. Sanctuary Desire Longing Waiting Holding​​​

In 2020, she met Linda Norris virtually, and together they developed the project Root & Branch, supported by Wales Arts International. Initially, the project was a collaboration between the two artists, but later it expanded to include several more artists and was presented in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Wales, and Germany.

You can read more about the project here: Root & Branch.

And now we are going to discover the work Linda created for this exhibition.

Linda is an artist from Wales, where she also lives. Although she began her career as a painter, her practice later evolved towards glass as a way to explore ideas beyond the limits of paint.

Her work investigates memory, landscape, and human presence through the physical and metaphorical qualities of glass — its ability to transmit, conceal, fracture, and preserve light.

She is also the co-founder of Studio Melyn, an architectural glass practice creating contemporary interventions for historic buildings.

The work by Linda Norris is different from what we have seen before. For the first time, she talks about home as an unsafe place. Her work emerged from an amazing collaborative workshop. She worked with four other women from Ukraine, Italy and Northern Ireland and together they created a collaborative glass artwork illuminating domestic violence.

I’m here again — it’s time to discover more artists from HOME, the project curated by Wai Kit Lam.

As a reminder, HOME brings together 28 international artists around the idea of home and a small pillar measuring 115 (H) × 25 (W) × 25 (D) cm.

The next artist is Rachel Hiu Yin Ip, a visual artist from Hong Kong based in the UK. Rachel is also an art educator, curator, and arts columnist. She is the founder of Women Art Creative, a platform dedicated to supporting and promoting female artists. Keep an eye on her work — her career is truly inspiring.

Rachel describes; “Home is the place where you are the queen of your own castle”.

I would also like to introduce Connie Kwan Yin Ko, the next artist, an art psychotherapy trainee whose practice combines trauma-informed care, cultural humility, and decades of experience supporting marginalised communities. Through art therapy, she explores how images can reveal unconscious emotions and express what words cannot.

Connie’s transition from Hong Kong to the UK continues to shape her sensitivity to loss, belonging, and cross-cultural dialogue. She approaches each encounter as a learner, seeing art-making as a shared journey of meaning and identity.

Debbie Elliott is a writer, artist, and podcaster whose work is deeply influenced by her studies in Divinity and her fascination with medieval bestiaries, myth, and magic. Through sculpture and mixed media, she recreates imaginary creatures and symbolic worlds.

Her piece I Wish to Live with a Unicorn (2000) reflects this interest, drawing on the mythology of the unicorn and its connection to fantasy and desire.

To conclude this week, we have a collaboration between two artists: Françoise Rod, a Swiss-French artist, and Madeleine Doré, a Canadian artist and founder of the movement bonheur d’occasion.

Françoise Rod and Madeleine Doré are the founders of tadlachance, an art association dedicated to nomad, relational and contextual art practice founded in 2002.

Coming from different backgrounds, they found common ground through their work, which stands with a monument-like presence within a domestic setting. While Montagne evokes an inner, perceptual experience, Reversal, like an inscribed plinth, anchors it within the physical structure of the home.

Remember that you can discover this exhibition online through Facebook, Instagram, the online catalogue and the website.

Tanto las características geográficas y climáticas como el relieve de las montañas, son responsables del viento que comienza a soplar de madrugada hasta media mañana. Este hecho, que se repite todas las noches, fue el punto de partida para crear la historia que ilustra las fotos con las que trato de reflejar la vida en Rishikesh. Aunque los personajes están inspirados en las mitologías griega e hindú, la trama es producto de mi imaginación.

Cuenta la leyenda que hace muchos años, tantos tantos años, que en la tierra sólo existían dos continentes: Gondwana y Laurasia, separados por el Mar de Tetis. A orillas de este paradisíaco lugar de aguas transparentes, pasaban los dioses Griegos sus días estivales, aburridos del Olimpo. Fue en esa costa donde Tetis, la hija de Urano y Gea, conoció a Visnú, el Dios creador y destructor de la religión hindú.

Era este un amor imposible y ambos lo sabían, pero como el corazón siempre tiene motivos que la razón no comprende, desoyeron sus consejos y asumieron el riesgo de seguir adelante con esta relación. Eso sí, conscientes del riesgo que corrían y de los obstáculos a los que se enfrentaban, decidieron mantenerla en secreto. Del amor de ambos dioses nació Ganges, el río que nace en las faldas del Himalaya.

Al ponerse el sol una tarde de ese bucólico verano, Tifón, el hermano pequeño de Tetis, descubrió a la pareja. Sabedor de la traición a la familia que su hermana estaba cometiendo enfureció y descargó toda su cólera sobre el lugar donde paseaban los enamorados. Fue tan grave su enfado que los continentes se resquebrajaron, desapareció el idílico océano y en su lugar surgió una cordillera, la más alta de la tierra, que separa China de La India, El Himalaya. Tetis fue obligada a volver al Olimpo (Grecia) y a dejar a su hijo y a su amado en las montañas.

Desde ese día, todas las madrugadas Ganges grita desesperadamente llamando a su madre, gritos que se convierten en el viento que sopla en las faldas de la montaña.

Due to weather and geographical characteristic and the mountainous relief, the wind blows in the Himalayas from the wee hours to midday. This fact was the reason why I invented this story, an excuse to talk about daily life in Rishikesh. Although the characters in this story are inspired by the Greek and Indian history, the plot is a product of my imagination.

According to the legend, many many years ago, when there were only two continents on the earth: Gondwana y Laurasia with the Tethys sea in the middle, the ancient Greek gods would pass the days on the shore of this heavenly place, when they were bored of Mount Olympus.

On the coast of this sea, Tethys, daughter of Uranus and Gaia, met Vishnu, one of the principal deities of Hinduism, God of Protection, Preservation of Good and Dharma restoration.

Their relationship was an impossible love and both of them knew it, but they ignored the reason of this impossibility and went ahead with their relation. They decided to keep it a secret. Over time, their love bore fruit and Ganges, the river which springs from the Himalayas, was born.

One summer afternoon, during the sunset, Typhon, the youngest of Tethys´ brothers, found out the lovers. Typhon was conscious that his sister was betraying their family and unleashed his anger over the couple. There was a big storm and the continents were cracked and the idyllic ocean was transformed into a big mountain range, the tallest in the world, the mountain chain that separates China from India, the Himalayas. Tethys was forced to go back to Olympus (Greece) and abandon her child with his father in the mountains.

From that date onwards, early in the morning before the sunrise, Ganges cries desperately asking for his mum. These cries are the strong wind blowing in the mountains.

¿Cómo estás? (English below).

Las últimas semanas estuve trabajando intensamente en un proyecto y ahora me enfrento al vacío. Hoy voy a hablar de este vacío al que nos enfrentamos constantemente.

El vacío, aunque necesario, es muy difícil.

Ya lo comenté anteriormente, vivimos en una sociedad que en los últimos años nos impone un ritmo de producción muy alto. Me estoy rebelando un poco contra eso.

Trato de compartir mi proceso de trabajo, los proyectos en los que estoy implicada, etcetera. Pero a veces, para poder crear, necesito espacio e intimidad. Necesito aislarme para poder comunicarme con la obra que estoy creando. Por eso hay veces que desaparezco.

Personalmente no encuentro sentido compartir mi trabajo desde la obligación. Así que bajo el ritmo y, cuando vuelvo a tener las cosas claras, vuelvo a compartir.

Volviendo al vacío: ¿Qué se puede hacer en estos periodos entre proyectos?

Seguir trabajando. Crear una rutina, aunque crees cosas que piensas que no sirven, nunca des nada por sentado, porque todo suma.

En estos momentos estoy escribiendo mucho, quizás para poner orden en mis ideas. Estoy haciendo fotos que aún no sé a dónde llegarán, pintando, creando collages, etc. Os comparto varias imágenes de todo esto.

Aquí me despido hoy.

La próxima semana os enseñaré cosas nuevas y os compartiré las fechas de las próximas exposiciones, donde podréis visitarme y comprar obra.

Hello,

(English below.)

How are you?

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been working intensely on a project, and now I find myself facing the void. Today I want to talk about that void we constantly encounter.

The void, although necessary, is very difficult.

I mentioned it before: we live in a society that, in recent years, has imposed a very high pace of production on us. Personally, I am rebelling against that.

I try to share my working process, the projects I’m involved in, and so on. But sometimes, in order to create, I need space and intimacy. I need to isolate myself so that I can communicate with the work I am creating. That is why, at times, I disappear.

Personally, I see no sense in sharing my work out of obligation. So I slow down, and when things become clear again, I share again.

Returning to the void: what can we do during those periods between projects?

Keep working. Create a routine. Even if you make things that you think are useless, never take anything for granted, because everything adds up.

At the moment, I’m writing a lot, perhaps to bring order to my ideas. I’m taking photographs that I still don’t know where they will lead, painting, creating collages…

I’m sharing several images of all of this with you.

I’ll leave it here for today.
Next week I’ll share new work with you and let you know the dates of the upcoming exhibitions, where you’ll be able to visit and purchase my work.

A principios de mes participé en una exposición en Atenas, comisaria por Women Photo Festival.

Os comparto varias fotos de la exposición y de la obra con la que participé.

Nos vemos la próxima semana con varias sorpresas.

At the beginning of the month, I took part in an exhibition in Athens, curated by Women Photo Festival.

I’m sharing several photos of the exhibition and of the work I presented there.

See you next week with a few surprises.

La semana pasada os presentaba el proyecto HOME comisariado por Wai Kit Lam, esta semana os voy a enseñar la obra con la que participo en el proyecto y otras cosas.

Empezamos con mi obra.

Hace más de un año, una gélida noche en Londres, Kit me habló del proyecto y me invitó a participar. En su momento tenía muy claro lo que le iba a presentar, pero cuando llegó el momento, cambié de idea.

A lo largo de los años me mudé varias veces. He vivido en diferentes lugares, a veces en casas sólo durante uno dos meses. Cuando llegas a una casa en la que vas a estar sólo unas semanas, sacas muy pocas cosas: quizás sólo una foto o un frasco de colonia, para hacerla un poco tuya.

Pero hay algo que observé con los años y que se convirtió en una constante: la luz. La luz convertía cualquier casa en mi hogar. La luz tiene la capacidad de convertir un espacio ordinario en algo extraordinario. La luz es magia pura. Y en la luz se basa mi obra.

Os comparto mi obra, espero que os guste.

Una de las obras que forman esta escultura, fue a su vez, finalista en un concurso en la Universidad Popular de Logroño “Lar, el hogar”.

Esto es todo por hoy, la próxima semana seguimos.

Last week I introduced the project HOME, curated by Wai Kit Lam. This week I would like to share the work I am presenting in the project, along with a few other things. Let’s start with my piece.

More than a year ago, on a freezing night in London, Kit told me about the project and invited me to take part. At that moment, I was very clear about what I was going to present, but when the time came, I changed my mind.

Over the years, I have moved many times. I have lived in different places, sometimes in houses for just one or two months. When you arrive at a place where you will only stay for a few weeks, you take out very few things — maybe just a photograph or a bottle of perfume, to make it feel a little bit yours.

But there is something I noticed over the years that became a constant: light. Light turned any house into my home. It has the ability to transform an ordinary space into something extraordinary. Light is pure magic. And my work is based on light.

I’m sharing my work with you — I hope you like it. Keep an eye on Instagram.

One of the pieces that make up this sculpture was also a finalist in a competition at the Universidad Popular de Logroño, “Lar, el hogar”.

That’s all for today. See you next week.

How are you?

Today I would like to introduce HOME, a project curated by a good friend and amazing artist, Wai Kit Lam.

First of all, I would like to introduce Wai Kit Lam. Kit is an old friend. We met for the first time in 2009 in Berlin, during an artist residency, and since then we have worked together on many projects. I would like to take this opportunity to thank her for all the opportunities over the years.

Kit is from Hong Kong. She is a brilliant artist and curator, and she recently moved to London. I will talk more about her soon, but if you are curious, you can visit her website.

The project I am talking about, HOME, brings together 25 international artists around the idea of home and a small pillar measuring 115 (H) × 25 (W) × 25 (D) cm.

From March 9th to September 24th, each artist will explore what home means.
Home encompasses multiple meanings for each of us.

You can discover this exhibition online through Facebook, Instagram, the online catalogue and the website.

Let’s take a look at the first five artists and reflect, through them, on what home is.
Please feel free to share your thoughts on what home means to you in the comments.

I have to say, I am discovering these artists in real time, and I am really surprised by the quality of their work. I am truly falling in love with all of them.

The first artist to inaugurate the show was the Spanish artist Joan Vallespir Aguiló, from Mallorca.
For Joan, home is where you feel your deepest sense of belonging — the things that define your privacy.

Patricio Alvarez Aragon, an artist from Santiago de Chile based in Germany, thinks that home is where you feel free — the place where you can do whatever you love until the very last day.

William Wong is a multidisciplinary artist from Hong Kong, based in the UK.
What is home for him? A place whose future you feel responsible for making better.

Hundrich is a German artist and the last participant in this first month of HOME.
His work, I am landscape, is mainly created with pine branches. Through it, he reflects on home as a place where we can withdraw.

This is all for today. I’ll be back on May 26th with the next five artists.

Remember to follow along on social media, and feel free to share what home means to you.

Hola, (English Below).

Siempre estoy trabajando en varios proyectos a la vez. Cuando me atasco con la cámara, cojo los pinceles. A veces solo pinto como un ejercicio para mantener las manos activas; otras, para expresar lo que no sé decir con palabras.

Y viceversa: cuando me aburro de pintar, cojo la cámara y salgo a la calle.

Trabajo indistintamente con ambos medios y creo que se nutren mutuamente.

Hoy os quiero compartir varias cosas.

La semana del 23 al 29 de marzo volveré a experimentar en mi estudio una puesta en escena del proyecto en el que estoy trabajando : Out of Focus.

Si quieres visitarlo, escríbeme y te mando los detalles.

Voy a aprovechar esta ocasión y poner a la venta alguna pinturas, como ya anticipe la semana pasada.

Las obras disponibles sólo estarán disponibles a través de la venta directa: son obras sobre papel, acuarelas, copias únicas.

Si te interesa, te puedes subscribir a mi newsletter y te mandaré el catalogo de con las obras disponibles, los precios y todas las condiciones.

Esto es todo por hoy. Nos vemos la próxima semana y seguimos hablando de Time.

I’m always working on several projects at the same time. When I get stuck with the camera, I return to painting. Sometimes I paint simply as a way of keeping my hands active; other times, to express something I can’t quite put into words.

And the opposite is also true: when I grow tired of painting, I pick up my camera and head out into the street.

I move naturally between both mediums, and over time I’ve come to see how much they feed into each other.

Today I’d like to share a few things with you.

As I mentioned last week, I’ll be taking this opportunity to release a small selection of paintings. These works will only be available through direct sale. They are works on paper — watercolors and unique pieces.

If you’re interested, you can subscribe to my newsletter and I’ll send you a catalogue with the available works, prices, and all the details.

During the week of March 23–29, I will also be experimenting again in my studio with a new staging of the project I’m currently developing: Out of Focus.

If you’d like to visit the studio, feel free to write to me and I’ll gladly send you the details.

That’s all for today. See you next week, when I’ll continue exploring the Time project.

Pues ya estamos en marzo. Han pasado dos meses de 2026 y hace un mes desde la última vez que hable del proyecto Time. Así que vamos a volver a hablar de mi obsesión: la velocidad del tiempo.

Canary Wharf_London_Tienda online.

¿De qué habla este proyecto? Del tiempo que se nos escapa de las manos. Del tiempo que no podemos parar ni ralentizar.

En un proyecto reciente me planteaba si hago fotos con la intención de detener el tiempo.

Pero también habla de otra cosa que me obsesionaba cuando comencé a trabajar en este proyecto y que, con los años - y precisamente en este momento-, me pone muy nerviosa: la obsesión de la gente con el móvil.

Oberbaumbrucke_Berlin_Compra online.

Los ojos fijos en la pantalla. La mala educación de sentarte a comer con alguien y que le preste más atención al móvil que a la persona con la que comparte mesa.

Las imágenes borrosas tratan de reflejar esa desconexión constante de la sociedad: los saltos continuos, la incapacidad de mantener la atención, la sensación de estar siempre en otro lugar.

Os dejo por hoy. Seguiré hablando de este proyecto en las próximas semanas, y también de cosas nuevas.

Antes de despedirme, en marzo habrá una venta especial de algunas obras en papel. Si te interesa, puedes inscríbete en mi boletín de noticias. La próxima semana os cuento todos los detalles.

Louvre _ Summer Times.

Well, here we are in March. Two months of 2026 have already passed, and it’s been a month since I last spoke about the Time project. So today, I want to return to my obsession: the speed of time.

What is this project about? It’s about time slipping through our fingers. About time that we cannot stop or slow down.

In a recent project, I asked myself whether I take photographs with the intention of stopping time.

But this work is also about something else that obsessed me when I first began developing it — and that, over the years, and especially right now, makes me deeply uneasy: people’s obsession with their phones.

Eyes fixed on the screen. The rudeness of sitting down to eat with someone who pays more attention to their phone than to the person sharing the table.

The blurred images attempt to reflect this constant disconnection in society: the continuous jumps, the inability to sustain attention, the feeling of always being somewhere else.

Putney London _ Buy online.

That’s all for today. I’ll continue talking about this project in the coming weeks — and about new things as well.

Before I go, there will be a special sale of selected works on paper in March. If you’re interested, you can subscribe to my newsletter. I’ll share all the details next week.

Me gustan los rascacielos, no lo puedo evitar.

A pesar de mi miedo a las alturas y de mi pánico a los ascensores, me fascinan esos edificios tan altos que parecen querer tocar el cielo.

Hace años, cuando vivía en Londres, había dos torres que me obsesionaban: Trellick y Balfron.

Ambas son edificios brutalistas del arquitecto Erno Goldfinger. Una está en el oeste, en Westbourne Grove: La torre Trellick. Era mi vecina; la veía a diario desde mi ventana, y ahí empezó mi obsesión.

La otra torre, Torre Balfron está en el este, en Poplar. Los años y las circunstancias me llevaron a vivir cerca de ella.

Mi obsesión en este momento son estos dos edificios, más contemporáneos, del arquitecto Jean Nouvel. Ambos están en París, en el distrito XIII. También los veo desde casa.

No son gemelas, pero están juntos: uno mide 180 metros y el otro 122. Empezaron a construirse en 2017 y se terminaron en 2021.

Os dejo varias fotos de ambas torres, en esta zona aún en desarrollo. Me gusta y me inspira perderme en esta zona en desarrollo.

Me despido por hoy. La próxima semana seguiremos hablamos de mi proyecto Time y su evolución a lo largo de los años.

Si hay algo que te gustaría saber sobre mi proceso de trabajo, no dudes en comentarlo para tenerlo en cuenta.

English.

I like skyscrapers — I can’t help it.
Despite my fear of heights and my panic about elevators, I’m fascinated by these tall buildings that seem to reach for the sky.

Years ago, when I was living in London, there were two towers that obsessed me: Trellick and Balfron.

Both are Brutalist buildings by the architect Ernő Goldfinger.
One is in the west, on Westbourne Grove: Trellick Tower. It was my neighbour; I saw it every day from my window, and that’s where my obsession began.
The other, Balfron Tower, is in the east, in Poplar. Years later, I ended up living close to it.

My current obsession is with two more contemporary buildings by the architect Jean Nouvel. They are both in Paris, in the 13th arrondissement. I can see them from my home as well.

They are not twins, but they stand side by side: one is 180 m. tall and the other 122. Construction began in 2017 and was completed in 2021.

I’m sharing several photographs of both towers, in this area that is still under development. Many things influence a work, even in subtle ways.

That’s all for today. Next week we’ll continue talking about my project Time and how it has evolved over the years.

If there’s anything you’d like to know about my working process, feel free to leave a comment — I’ll keep it in mind.

En el año 2013, mientras trabajaba en el proyecto Territorios - del que ya he hablado -realicé de forma paralela este otro proyecto.

Estaba en Nueva York y se celebraba el año nuevo de la serpiente. Me encantaba mezclarme en las celebraciones, en Manhattan, Brooklyn y Queens. Hice numerosas fotografías y estudie todo lo que pude sobre el porque de las celebraciones.

Un año después, en 2014, Año del Caballo - también entonces- presenté Almanaque, el proyecto que hoy comparto aquí.

Os comparto el texto integro de aquel 2014, cuando celebramos el año del caballo de madera.

El 30 de enero de 2014, coincidiendo con la luna nueva en acuario, comenzó, según el calendario chino, el año 4712, año del caballo. Un caballo que pronostica un futuro lleno de oportunidades, siempre y cuando estemos dispuestos a trabajar duro.

Cada año en el primer mes lunar del calendario lunisolar, utilizado tradicionalmente en China, se festeja el festival de la primavera o año nuevo chino. Con motivo de esta celebración del año nuevo lunar aparece una nueva edición del almanaque chino, un documento anual que regula las actividades diarias.

Para celebrar el año nuevo chino presento esta colección de doce fotografías, Almanaque, que realicé durante mi estancia en Nueva York en 2013, que coincidió con la fiestas del año nuevo chino 4711 o de la serpiente.

Almanaque nace de la tradición anual de la publicación este manual, conocido comúnmente con su nombre cantonés: Tong Sing.

El almanaque chino tiene su origen en el calendario imperial, un equilibrio entre los patrones solares y lunares que tradicionalmente mantienen la armonía entre la tierra, el cielo y la humanidad. Durante más de 2000 años, cada familia reinante produjo este documento anual que regula las actividades diarias.

Aunque actualmente el Tong Sing aún divide al año lunar en doce meses y 24 sub-estaciones y diariamente nos aconseja sobre las actividades apropiadas o inapropiadas para la jornada, actividades que se han adaptado a la vida moderna en la ciudad.

Tras un año de trabajo nació Almanaque, un conjunto de 12 imágenes que fusiona la cultura occidental con la oriental, nos recuerda las fiestas que rigen el calendario lunar y nos sugiere que actividad podemos realizar en ese día para tener éxito.

Para terminar, una curiosidad: el calendario que cada año sale a la venta, tuvo su origen en este proyecto.

ENGLISH.

Today we celebrate the Chinese New Year, and I’d like to take this opportunity to share a project from a few years ago.

In 2013, while I was working on the project Territorios — which I’ve already written about—I was simultaneously developing this other project.

I was living in New York, and it was the Year of the Snake. I loved immersing myself in the celebrations across Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens. I took many photographs and studied as much as I could about the meaning behind the rituals.

A year later, in 2014, the Year of the Horse, I presented Almanaque, the project I’m sharing here today.

Below, I’m sharing the full text from 2014, when we celebrated the Year of the Wood Horse.

To finish, a small curiosity: the calendar that is released every year originated from this project.

On 30th January 2014, the same day that the full moon was in Aquarius, it started, according the Chinese Almanac, 4712 year, year of the horse. A horse that predicts a future full of chances, if you work hard.

Every year on the first lunar month of calendar, used traditionally in China, they celebrate the Festival of Spring or New Year. With the chance of this celebration a new edition of the Chinese Almanac appeared, an annual guide that sets the daily activities.

To celebrate Chinese New Year I introduce Almanaque, a collection of twelve photographs that I took during in New York in 2013, during the celebrations of Chinese New Year 4711 or year of the snake.

Almanaque was born through the annual tradition of this diary, known as Tong Sing, its Cantonese name,

The Chinese Almanaque has its roots in the Imperial calendar, a balance of solar and lunar patterns traditionally maintaining harmony among heaven, earth and mankind. For more than 2000 years, each succeeding court produced an annual document regulating daily activities.

The modern Tong Sing still divides the lunar year in 12 months and 24 sub-seasons. The almanaque´s most lasting legacy has been in regulating earthly life, although many of the activities mentioned in the almanac stems from an agrarian society much removed from today´s urban China.

After one year of work Almanaque was produced, a collection of twelve pictures that mixes Occidental and Oriental cultures, reminds us the moon calendar´s festivities and suggests which activity is good to do in order to be successful.

(As always, English below).

¿Cómo funciona la creatividad? No lo sé.

Hay normas, hay disciplina pero a veces pasan cosas que te hacen desviarte del camino. Les das una oportunidad y surgen cosas como este texto.

Hoy os quería hablar de otra obra en la que estoy trabajando y tenía en mente compartir fotos del proceso. Buscando las fotos, encontré las esta obra, y esto es lo que os cuento hoy.

A veces tienes muy claro en la cabeza la imagen que quieres conseguir. No sabes de dónde viene, pero ahí está, y haces todo lo posible para llegar a ella.

Esto me pasó con esta imagen que comparto a continuación.

Me fascinan los movimientos en los pasos de cebra.

Me puedo pasar horas contemplando cómo se llenan poco a poco, como si fueran un reloj de arena mientras, el semáforo esta en rojo. Se pone en verde, se vacían… y vuelta a empezar.

Me encanta contemplarlos en verano, cuando el solo crea sombras que se entrecruzan con las rayas del paso de cebra.

De repente me imaginé la composición de círculos y rayas y no paré hasta conseguirla.

El paso de cebra está en Bilbao, en la Gran Vía de Lopez de Haro.

Si quieres saber más sobre creatividad, puedes participar en este taller online.

English.

How does creativity work? I don’t know.

There are rules, there is discipline, but sometimes things happen that make you drift away from the path. You give them a chance, and texts like this appear.

Today I wanted to talk about another piece I’m working on and I had planned to share photos of the process.
While looking for those images, I came across this work, and this is what I want to tell you about today.

Sometimes you have a very clear image in your mind. You don’t know where it comes from, but it’s there, and you do everything you can to reach it.

This is what happened with the image I’m sharing next.

I’m fascinated by the movements at pedestrian crossings.

I can spend hours watching how they slowly fill up, like an hourglass, while the traffic light is red. It turns green, they empty… and it starts all over again.

I love observing them in summer, when the sun creates shadows that intersect with the white stripes of the crossing.

Suddenly, I imagined a composition of circles and stripes, and I didn’t stop until I achieved it.

The pedestrian crossing is in Bilbao, on Gran Vía de López de Haro.

Hola,

¿Cómo estás?

Tenía intención de hablar de un proyecto que hice en 2009, pero en estos momentos no tengo los archivos a mano. Así que este mes y el que viene os voy a hablar - os voy a contar cosas - sobre mi obsesión: quizás de lo que más hablo en mi obra.

Edición limitada, la puedes encontrar aquí: Putney_2014 .

Es un tema que ha evolucionado a lo largo de los años, pero que siempre está ahí. Buscando imágenes y revisando textos antiguos, me he dado cuenta que sólo he hablado de esto una vez ¡Y es mi obsesión!.

Fue en julio, cuando compartí uno de mis primeros proyectos Sin Prisas_2011 (Puedes volver a leerlo aquí. #SinPrisas).

Mi obsesión es el paso del tiempo.

Una vida que se nos escapa de las manos sin darnos cuenta, y que se acentúa cuando vivimos desconectados de nosotros mismos, del presente, viajando constantemente entre el pasado y el futuro.

Esta desconexión se intensifica con el uso compulsivo del móvil.

Últimamente me pone muy nerviosa la gente a mi alrededor con los ojos pegados, de forma constante a la pantalla del móvil.

ENGLISH

How are you?
I originally intended to talk about a project I made in 2009, but at the moment I don’t have the files at hand. So this month and next, I’m going to talk to you — and share — about my obsession, perhaps the subject I’ve explored the most in my work.

It’s a theme that has evolved over the years, but has always been there.
While searching for images and revisiting old texts, I realised that I’ve only spoken about this once before.

It was back in July, when I shared one of my earliest projects, Sin Prisas (2011).
You can read it again here. #SinPrisas.

My obsession is the passage of time.
A life that slips through our fingers without us realising it, something that becomes more evident when we live disconnected from ourselves, from the present moment, constantly moving between the past and the future.

This disconnection is intensified by the compulsive use of mobile phones.
Lately, it makes me very uneasy to see people around me constantly staring at their screens.

Aquí paramos por hoy, continuamos la próxima semana.

Durante el mes de enero de acumularon muchos imprevistos y no pude compartir ningún proyecto de años anteriores.

Pero hoy, martes, antes de que termine el mes, voy a presentar la obra que estuvo en la clausura de la 60ª edición de la Bienal de Venecia, en 2024.

Peones, es una obra inédita en su forma, aunque no en su contenido, pues continúa reflexionando sobre una sociedad sin sueños, adormecida, conformista y fácilmente manipulable.

Una de las primeras ideas que tuve sobre esta obra fue el título de la última novela póstuma de Irene Nemirovsky, El peón en el tablero.

Otro aspecto que tuve en cuenta al crear esta obra fueron los movimientos de las personas en la ciudad, una fascinación que me ha acompañado desde hace mucho tiempo.

During the month of January, many unexpected things came up and I wasn’t able to share any projects from previous years.
But today, before the month comes to an end, I’d like to present the work that was part of the closing of the 60th edition of the Venice Biennale in 2024.

Peones is an original work in its form, though not in its content, as it continues to reflect on a dreamless, complacent, and easily manipulated society.

One of the first ideas that inspired this work was the title of Irene Nemirovsky’s final posthumous novel, The Pawn on the Chessboard.

Hoy voy a compartir contenido muy visual de un proyecto en el que estoy trabajando desde hace un año. He ido compartiendo cosas del proceso de trabajo, pero aún está en desarrollo. Así que de momento sólo hay imágenes.

Out of Focus habla de la desconexión constante de nosotros mismos mientras no podemos dejar de estar conectados a lo que sucede fuera.

A continuación comparto varias imágenes de una instalación que realicé en mi estudio. Estas pequeñas instalaciones me sirven para materializar las ideas y seguir trabajando.

English:

Today I’m sharing a very visual post from a project I’ve been working on for about a year.
I’ve already shared parts of the process, but the project is still in development.
For now, there are only images.

Out of Focus speaks about the constant disconnection from ourselves, while we remain unable to disconnect from what is happening outside.

Below, I’m also sharing several images of an installation I created in my studio.
These small installations help me materialize ideas and continue working.

Today I just want to share a few images from my notebook.
Photographs I took a long time ago, but that I may be sharing for the very first time.

Hoy escribo el último post de Territorios, y también el último del mes y del año.
Es un proyecto al que le tengo un cariño especial, quizá porque fue el primero de gran envergadura.
Doce años después, al mirar atrás, vuelvo a encontrarme con la inocencia que tenía entonces.

I would like to wish you a happy New Year.
See you next week, with a new project, a new month, and a new year.

Territorios is a photographic investigation as well as a personal reflection, born through my observation of different communities coexisting in the same territory. In this project, I present my thoughts about coexistence, tolerance, respect, diversity and our necessity to adapt to a new culture while, at the same time, we try to preserve our origins.

After two World Wars, the success of Communism in Russia or Nazism in Germany, Industrial Revolution, the dismantling of the Colonial Empires and other historical events, the migratory movements were increased.

In 2013, this project started in New York and later it is moving to London. In the once capital of the wide British Empire, more than fifty races coexist, over 300 languages are spoken and there are more than 150 different religions.

Once again, I use photography to present her thoughts about coexistence, tolerance, respect, diversity, and our necessity to adapt to a new culture while, at the same time, we try to preserve our origins. Different communities with popular traditions that survive through time and space.

The result of this second part of the project is a group of images or photocollages where she shows us different places from the City of London. Each image in the series induces us to think about how this coexistance is possible.

Territorios is a personal reflection, born through her observation of all these communities matched together as pieces of a jigsaw. This is why the translation from Spanish to English is not literal. When she was thinking in Spanish she was drawn to the word ‘Territorios’, but when she translated it to English she used Jigsaw, because she liked the sound of this word, and also because it expresses how she imagines communities fit in together.

Territorios es una investigación fotográfica nacida de la observación que analiza subjetivamente los movimientos migratorios que fuerzan a diferentes comunidades a convivir en un mismo territorio.

A lo largo del siglo XX, dos guerras mundiales, el triunfo del comunismo en Rusia o el regimen Nazi en Alemania, la revolución industrial, el desmantelamiento de los imperios coloniales y otros acontecimientos históricos intensificaron el flujo de los movimientos migratorios.

Este proyecto, que comenzó en Nueva York, hace parada ahora en Londres. A día de hoy, en la que fuera durante años capital de un extenso Imperio Británico, conviven más de cincuenta razas foráneas, se hablan más de 300 lenguas diferentes y existen más de 150 religiones distintas.

Una vez más, a través de la fotografía, reflexiono sobre la convivencia, la tolerancia, el respeto y la diversidad cultural de las diversas comunidades que conviven en una misma ciudad. Comunidades dispares, con tradiciones fuertemente arraigadas que sobreviven a través del tiempo y del espacio. ¿Es posible está convivencia?

Esta segunda parte de Territorios se compone de una serie de nueve fotomontajes que muestran diversos escenarios de la ciudad de Londres. Cada imagen nos induce a pensar cómo es posible la convivencia.