This is a piece I did with the intentions of selling it. But I loved it so much so I kept it. It sits on the back of the chair I sit when I read or I watch movies. 

A NEW SUBLIME (UN NUEVO SUBLIME)

Algunas definiciones de sublime a modo introductorio:

Es la emoción estética que produce lo bello cuando va acompañado de grandiosidad o elevación inabarcables para el entendimiento.

Que tiene una gran belleza o calidad.

Sublime es un adjetivo que proviene de término sublimar. En el área de la física, sublimar es el paso directo que lleva a la materia del estado sólido al estado gaseoso, sin pasar por el estado líquido.

De allí que se use el adjetivo sublime en un sentido figurado en personas y obras que destacan del conjunto en términos de excelencia, superioridad, belleza y perfección.

Así, sublime se puede usar para exaltar el valor de una poesía sublime, una pintura sublime, un arte sublime. En este sentido, funcionan como sinónimos los adjetivos extraordinario, glorioso, grande, eminente, elevado, ideal, fantástico.

Según la filosofía, sublime es aquello que daña o destruye al observador, causando un fuerte dolor, por ser imposible de asimilar el objeto que se percibe. El término sublime es una belleza extrema, que vas más allá de la racionalidad del espectador.

En este sentido, para el filósofo Immanuel Kant, lo sublime es aquello que es absolutamente grande, causando incomodidad al espectador por superar las capacidades del mismo.

En relación a la estética, rama de la filosofía que se aboca al estudio de la belleza, sublime es aquello que trasciende de lo bello y humano, es admirable, espléndido, considerado divino, que exalta el corazón y la mente.

Descripción de la experiencia:

Es 3 de marzo de 2022. Estoy en medio de la reforma de la casa-academia de Balaguer. Mi hogar. Mi laboratorio.
Ante la angustia que me ha producido la guerra de Ucrania, me propongo a demoler un area de la casa que, sabiendo que no era urgente de hacer, me dará un alivio estético y de paso me hará reflexionar sobre la guerra, la destrucción, el dolor y sus implicaciones en territorios que se suponen en paz. Nada puede suponer el máximo imperio de la paz que mi propia casa.

Sin embargo los tiempos son turbulentos, con una pandemia que parece terminar pero solo es una ilusión. En ese contexto me cambio de continente, de país y de ciudad y busco una nueva forma de exploración personal. 
Estalla una guerra sin sentido, transmitida y re transmitida por las imágenes del big data que lo ve todo, que lo sabe todo, lo domina todo.

Me propongo lo imposible: demoler toda una área de la vivienda eliminando la sucesión de fondas existentes que no me permiten ver el espacio en su real dimensión. Lo hago junto a mi hijo que me ayuda preguntándome todo el tiempo "por qué?" Y en un plazo de tres horas solo quedan escombros y runa por doquier.

Ahí es cuando al mirar esos tochos destruidos que tenían que ser ensacados, reflexiono sobre lo rápido y fácil que es destruir y lo difícil que es construir. Que puedo construir con esos restos? 
Construyó las bases de una idea: con los restos ordenados, como quien arma un rompecabezas, voy estructurando un zócalo de piezas y partes. Y me doy cuenta que por más que lo material se pueda destruir también esa misma materia cambia y construye algo nuevo. Esos restos me recordaron a los caídos, la atmósfera azulosa y ambar del recinto al atardecer me hace pensar en los símbolos que están por todas partes. Ese día me di cuenta que la casa-academia es un sitio de exploración, un laboratorio. Y que en ese instante de caos y orden de tres horas estaba fundando las sólidas bases de la residencia artística en la casa-academia. Fue un acto fundacional, urgente, para tratar de entender el horror.

Cómo se sabe: solo la belleza nos puede salvar del horror.

No como una belleza nueva.

Más precisamente, cómo Un Nuevo Sublime.

Iñaki Volante 

Balaguer, Mayo 2022. 

Winner of the third prize of the A-Place Mapping contest "Share your experiences of domestic places" 2022

All my memories, all the souveniers of my roots, places I have visited, friends gifts stay together in this shrine that makes me fell I'm closer to the people and places I love 

Winner of the fourth prize of the A-Place Mapping contest "Share your experiences of domestic places" 2022

Escuchado en Plaza Victoria, Valparaíso, 5.53 de la tarde.

-Yo estoy niahí con separarme de tí Luis, yo te amo. Te amo y quiero que tengamo una familia. Aparte ya nació la niña ya

Pero y si las cosas no funcionan, tenemos dos colchones si. 

Mi mamá te mandó unas cosas ahí

-Tu estando hospitalizada hice lo mejor que pude. Di lo mejor de mí. Quedaba solo en la casa un día y puta me volé, de la pura pena po. 

Decir puta mi amor sabi que, que pasa. Puta sabi no es malo cansarse

Pero no se debe. No se debe. Porque si empezamos a recaer denuevo deci no puedo Jose Luis. 

Vai a comer mas?

Quiero hacer mucho

Quiero hacer muchas cosas pero esas muchas cosas me cuestan.

-Nadie te frena nadie te va a separar. Que seai mamá y vayai a todos lados con ella. Que la tengai en la camita que salgai con la niña.

-Quiero que seamos felices. Pero pa eso tengo que ponerme un parche

-Intentemoslo entonces

-Cuando tengai las ansias dimelo. Si yo te digo eso tambien ayudame

Llevo dos dias mi amor

Ayer estaba pa la caga

Pa la caga mi amor

Fotografía digital toma directa. EDDMC (El Desorden De Mi Cama) 

Eligo la cama porque lo considero un espacio dentro del espacio. Su forma rectangular me remite a perímetro delineado donde circula mi existencia de manera cotidiana y recurrente. La cama como territorio íntimo que da cuenta de una existencia pasajera.  

I have got an antique mirror, a chair and a writing desk from my mother-in-law. In my new house, there are reflections of them that create a corridor of memory. My books, film festival badges, brushes and paints, and an unfinished painting also fall into this corridor. I like a lot the poster featuring the meeting with Artavazd Peleshyan which I stole from the bulletin board... All this was before the 24th of February. Since then I have stopped working as a journalist, I cannot paint and watch movies. Since the war in Ukraine began, I have been looking at the portrait of Sonya, which you can see next to my writing desk, painted by Christian Schad (1928) and I have been thinking about her destiny as a German refugee during WW2. Next to the portrait it is a dried bouquet that was given to me before the war. I do not throw it away in the memory of last February. There is a wooden house on the windowsill our son is playing with. I look at this house and think that many people have lost their homes. I have also lost in the baroque curls of the mirror, in the corridor of memory, and I do not know when I am able to visit my homeland again.

The cabinets of the hallway are filled with old photographs. 

Memories flood you each time you pass.

One morning, I noticed how the sunlight was focused on a particular frame.

The one with me and my sister as kids outside our old home, I'm wearing a pink dress and she is in her jean suit. 

I've never spoken about her with love, words have always been hard to articulate.

The past seems to haunt me often. 

But the sunlight was so sweet that day, her face bright with a smile.
It reminded me of the smiles we used to share instead of tears, the screams of laughter instead of anger. 

I could see her again & I was reminded that the darkness of the past will always haunt you unless you shed light on it.

?

Winner of the fourth prize of the A-Place Mapping contest "Share your experiences of domestic places" 2022

Physical experiences shape the way beings perceive the tangible terrene, and their sense of belonging arises from the memories brought along. A single place, in its essence, might be apodictic. But when shaped through an individual's perception, it is incomparably idiosyncratic. In this context, crossing into others' bubbles of reality elevates one's level of consciousness.

Home, stripped from every notion outside of its door when it’s shut, is what each individual finds within, carries along, and cultivates throughout their journey. Therefore, the concept of location is futile. Be that as it may, the impact of the whereabouts of individuals molds their persona irreversibly through acquired memories.

The shelter I currently live under is the one I call second place. As an individual in a state of foreignness for years, I have this second apartment that made me a different person and started a new chapter in my life. It is a new neighborhood, a new phase in my story.

I lived in an apartment for four years in a foreign country, and then I had to change my home and leave behind my first discoveries and initial stories throughout my journey. Then I relocated and realized I relocated my sense of belonging once more, this time by being more settled, experienced, resilient, and mature as I raised myself and thrived within my sense of belonging.

Every day I wake up seeing outside through my balcony door in every form when it is sunny or gloomy. I look at the books that I consider as the objects that provide me the feeling of growing roots inside of me more and more, day by day. Then, I look at the plants that I take care of that evoke as I take care of the roots inside me, every day with new challenges still growing and evolving. That is how I give myself a momentary pause before I get into the unknown challenges daily, and no matter what stage my emotions or concerns are at, to show off my gratitude to myself and my shelter as my second place, my sanctuary.

Llegar. Descalzarse. Poner la pava. Hacer un mate. 

El sol entra por la ventana justo en la esquina contraria, donde está el sofá. Me recuesto en él y miro la nada. Me gusta mirar la nada. La nada es un espacio con cosas, con detalles, miro las hojas del potus, hay una muerta o una nueva. La hiedra (se llama hiedra? me lo pregunto, no lo sé, tampoco googleo la respuesta) se movió, nadie la tocó asique ella solita movió sus hojas para seguir los rayos de luz. Observo el cuadro, los detalles de la ilustración, me pierdo en las finas líneas y colores. Me lo se de memoria, aún así, siempre descubro cosas nuevas. La nada no es la nada, está llena de cosas, pero cada cosa me hace detenerme y observar. Me hace presente en ese momento. Observar me adentra en mí, cada pensamiento hila una situación, una experiencia, a veces personas, a veces aromas. 

La nada es la nada, pero al mismo tiempo, es todo.

I try to do my laundry at the end of every week.

When the morning sun is touching my balcony doors, I feel motivated to do it early in the day, so the clothes and linen can get a good amount of fresh sun rays.

I can see people around putting their fresh laundry in a rooftops of apartment buildings. Probably because the awnings and the greenery on their balconies are shading them too much. Big bed linens are dancing between antennas and sun panels where they are becoming a standard part of window views.  

In our balcony we don’t have an awning because our landlord is too penny-pinching, so my washings always have an opportunity to be touched by the sun, even if I leave them inside. The shadows of clothes can play freely, without interruptions by branches of greenery.

Sometimes I’m too indolent to organize washing schedule with other room-mates and I’m postponing it until I’m out of clothes to wear. In the meantime, my laundry stand is staying open for more days as it is necessary. I like the feeling of having my clothes hanging around, where they are co-living with my other small pieces. Together they are presenting my characteristics in personal, weekly changing pop-up exhibitions.

The process of doing the laundry feels like the process of communicating with neighbours. In the mornings I can hear their washing machine. I’m guessing that they are an older generation because they wake up so early, maybe they are having a siesta in the afternoon. We are talking through smells of our washed clothes being merged into each other.

I’ve done more than 50 laundries in this place, and I have around 5 of them left. The practice of doing the laundry is moving with me and through it, I become a part of a surroundings. It is hard to define my home, but wherever I’m doing my laundry, I feel like I’m able to describe it as my domestic place. 

Winner of the second prize of the A-Place Mapping contest "Share your experiences of domestic places" 2022

Ahh! That enticing old book scent, the feel of turning fresh new pages and relishing the printed words... spending time in my cosy reading nook filled with “portable magic” transports me to new lands, takes me on a journey to far away places and mysterious worlds and yet makes me feel like home. I find solace between the pages of the book. It spurs my creativity and imagination. That feeling is so unique.

If you want to live a thousand lives before you die, read books!

‘’She was looking at me almost every single day of the last 1,5 years. Well... She was not really looking at me. I was inside her gaze but she was actually looking at the sky, the sun, the trees, the branches, the pine cones, the houses and the cars passing through. A very little amount of cars passing through. Once I noticed she counted the trees outside. She doubted what she counted. She was not sure if some trees were hiding behind others. 'I don’t believe in numbers' she thought. She counted them again the next day. '16. Weird. They really look less.' 

I was here the whole time, I saw her making coffee, sitting on that couch, eating breakfast, closing her eyes, listening to the birds, reading, watching movies, having sex, laughing, crying, spilling coffee, looking outside, staring at the sky… She almost never looked at me, but I knew that she knew I was here. Me and the ashtray that always sits on me. Of course she knew. She looked at me every day. Well, I was inside her gaze every day. 

One time I heard her crying. I heard her say 'I miss simple things. Simple. Very simple things. The things that we do every day without thinking about them. Going out, meeting friends, sitting on a bench in a sunny day. I feel like I lost myself. I cannot produce. I am not able to do anything. I feel like a failure, I feel like I failed.' At that moment she was looking at me. I heard the man saying 'don’t be unfair to yourself. The whole world has stopped.' As she turned her face from him, I can swear that we came eye to eye. With her red, tearful eyes, she sniffed and she pointed at me saying ‘I feel like that chair’.

Today she took a photo of me. Well… I was inside the gaze of the camera so I think I was inside the frame. Then she counted the cigarettes in the ashtray. 125. She thought 'that’s a lot of numbers for an ashtray’.''

Winner of the fourth prize of the A-Place Mapping contest "Share your experiences of domestic places" 2022