Self-Portrait - 2000 - Assembly : mirror, plaster, fabric, box spring, wooden plank, clay earth, 170 cm x 200 cm.

"One night, I dreamed that I was dreaming that I was in the process of dreaming"
Calderon de la Barca

The self portrait that I propose is not figurative; it doesn’t attach itself to represent my face or my body or my inscription in the world of things, nor does it aim for a resemblance trait by trait. I only exist therefore in function of my own perception. My work takes its origin in a dream, born from my preoccupation with this theme, and I tried to recreate this climate. It is composed as a triptych of not canvas, but of real objects. At the center, there is an iron box spring, posed vertically. Some hooks attached to the frame fix the extremities of the links, and a white sheet is attached to its center. A mirror and sheet of gray plaster compose the left board; a plank is to the right, on which I marked the heet with the plaster, which now stands as a footprint.
I interpret my dream by making connections among three key words, sleep, base, and somatization. The iron base becomes the underworld, and my self-portrait’s action takes place here. On the bars, traces of excrement give the sensation of evacuation, that is to say, to adopt Quevedo’s expression, “todo es lágrimas y caca” (everything is tears and shit) or, according to Calderón, “Una noche soñé que estaba soñado que soñaba” (one night, I dreamed that I was dreaming that I was in the process of dreaming). I would like to make a parallel with the triptychs of painters like Millares and Saura, in addition to Tapiès box springs. Concerning the central sheet, the creamy white color immediately makes me think of the fabric of Zurbarán monks’ robes.
Lastly, the auto-portrait in plaster on the left-hand side, evokes for me the “Häutung” (the skin) of Beuys; the gray of the plaster is a dirty gray, a very sad gray, a gray that could match the décor of Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot”. It’s my raincoat that I hang up world wearily on the coatrack after a rainy day when I arrive at home soaked. It contributes in this way to a depressive climate, of sadness where I saw myself at that instant. At the center of the plaster, a black mark in the form of a vent redefines the essential architecture of the figure, its vertebral column, its profound internal structure, its unconscious.