A rule defines the size; A grid shapes its composition. On the wall, a note reminds me of the proportions and the colors to be used. I follow the guidelines and I finish my first painting; Something is missing, I can't tell what; I stretch another canvas, I adapt the scheme, and I start again. The hand already mechanized continues to reproduce the 4:3; The seriality is born from the painting and, as if it has the ability to become one module, it is in the possibility of an unbroken repetition that the painting breaks its own physical limits. In this case, doesn’t the last painting become the same as the first, or any other? One painting becomes a potentiator of a new one; where the end reveals its beginning. But what happens when I move away from the moment of production?
The floor is folded to the wall; Piece by piece a frottage gains a body; A composite image rewrites the landscape of the canvas; Scanned images are translated to paintings; Organized objects are now forced to relate in the same plan; Containers of identities and memory from where I decode a pictorial vocabulary. I lay out scaled reproductions in a maquette; I test; I plan; But again is too much of something missing. Maybe I think I can control and anticipate all moments of production. The scheme is not static, it evolves and changes through the process; but on the verge of its legibility, I still find traces of earlier pictorial stages.