Pablo Andino / Doblar el Humo
8 August - 28 September 2021
I open my eyelids, adjust my gaze and look from one side to the other. I rejoin with the smell of smoke, ash and sweat. Right behind my eyes and at my temple I feel the pain and the absence of celebration. Strangely the party is still there, but it's broken.
Life has a vocation towards cessation. Everything points to expiration, death, dust and smoke. This little journey is a marker in time, but it is also a search for plasticity in the forgotten, in the profane and the fleeting. It is the aftermath of lure and sparkle. It is a game with what overflows the party.
I wonder how the archives of the world are constituted? The archive seems to be the end of the party. What would happen if those remains become the opening event, the art show, the party itself?
pablo andino dávila