I guess it all started with the idea of ​​drawing in the air. Or perhaps before that, with the purpose of exploring the limits of drawing, of finding out how far can drawing go, pointing out where the border lies beyond which a work could no longer be considered “a drawing”.

Because, what defines a work as “drawing”? the stroke?, the material?, the support?, the two-dimensionality?

My hypothesis and starting point is to consider that, regardless of the material with which it is made and the support that holds it, a line is a drawing. After the point, the simplest drawing you can imagine. If we have always considered any drawing as two-dimensional, it is not because this is an essential condition to classify a work as "a drawing", but because two-dimensional supports have always been used to make them, and this has conditioned the appearance of the final work. It is impossible to make a work with three dimensions if the support only has two.

Over time, my interventions have evolved in their conceptual and formal aspects. By formal aspects I mean not only a change towards simpler, more geometric lines, in which the repetition of elements has become essential, but -and above all- a change in the material with which I carry them out. The cord with which I made my first works has been definitively replaced by wool. The trail that the wool leaves in the air is similar to that left by a soft pencil on grainy paper, with those small irregularities that can only be appreciated by observing it closely. This fits my original "draw in space" idea. In the air, I can only draw with a pencil using wool.

The second evolutionary aspect in my work is deeper. It consists of considering space not as a mere support but as a moldable volume, as a new material that can be folded, cut, furrowed or delimited. In a certain way, concept and support have reversed their mission, now being the space the essential material of the work and the lines of wool its support. I no longer draw “in space”, but I draw “with space”.