The Elements of the Last Minute
The mural was born from what was found: recycled ceramic tiles, discarded materials, fragments rescued from Norwegian warehouses and from the memory of my father.
Like all my work, this stage was nourished by what life leaves behind in abandonment. Transforming ruin into surface became my way of resisting—and of continuing to experiment with relief.
The mural is an expanded body, one that no longer fit within the canvas. It marked a breaking point that pushed me out of bidimensionality and into the living matter of ceramics. Form itself demanded that I break the limits, open the wound, and give volume to pain.
From there emerged the sculptures: pieces in which ceramic became hardened flesh, frozen cries. Each work carried a name—an emotional state, a passage between penance, fracture, and tearing.
The culmination of this stage was the deep red: the moment of maximum entropy, when pain overflowed into color—into an open wound.
“The mural is the fissure that opens the passage— from blue introspection to the eruption of color.
Here, wounds become maps, and each panel is a fragment of the expanded body. It is the breaking point that announces Threshold IV.”
“The mural is not to be contemplated—it must be crossed. It is a body expanded into multiple skins, where blue is torn open to let the red of the open wound enter. Here, the scar is born as visible architecture.”
Threshold III — The Wound Transformed into Language
I cross the third threshold and discover that the wound is not merely hidden pain: it is writing, relief, memory asking for form.
Here, matter speaks in scars. Plaster, wood, and embodied trace become a secret alphabet— a language that needs no translation because it is read through the body.
This passage does not seek to conceal what has been lived, but to transform it into symbol: where once there was weight, now there is form; where once there was silence, now a sensory map emerges. Threshold III teaches us that every mark, every trace, carries the possibility of making the invisible visible—of inhabiting the wound as a fertile territory.
Fragmentation was not only material but existential. Each tile shard, each crack, each burst of color opened the way toward new forms: ceramic sculptures in which pain was modeled in three dimensions, pieces born as visceral expulsions that became bodies of memory.
The series that compose this threshold — The Decay of the Universe, Anthropomorphic Elements, and Elements of the Last Minute —are fragments of a single broken architecture: scattered yet alive. Within them, the scar ceased to be a surface and became a structure—fragmented, open, ritual.
Fragmented Architecture names this passage: a stage where pain became visible in fractured colors and forms, where the broken found meaning as a constructive principle, and where discarded matter was reclaimed as embodied dignity.