My work stems from an intense relationship with the physical world: with nature, with architecture, with the way human beings construct order amidst instability. I am interested in that which resists; that which transforms without losing its truth; that which remains as a trace. In an era marked by acceleration and dispersion, my practice—and now also my doctoral research in the Humanities—seeks to formulate structures of resistance: forms that restore to the body its capacity for attention, to the gaze its depth, and to time its density.

My language has developed around three ideas that permeate my work and my research: matter, emptiness, and perception. I work with iron and steel because they possess a radical humility: they do not lend themselves to illusion. They have gravity, they have hardness, they have memory. Any gesture leaves a mark in them: a cut, a weld, a tension. I am interested in the work preserving that mark, in the process being visible, because therein lies a kind of honesty that for me is essential. The material is not a neutral medium: it is a form of thought. Iron forces me to bear the weight, and the weight returns me to my body; to the physical condition of being.

I conceive of sculpture as an experience, not as a closed object. The work is completed in its relationship with the viewer: in the way light enters, in how the shadow changes, in how emptiness becomes the protagonist. Emptiness does not appear as a "hollow," but as an active space: it directs attention, creates rhythm, determines paths.

For me, the fold is a fundamental gesture. I do not understand it as decorative curvature, but as a structural operation: a fold organizes forces, defines directions, establishes tensions, and opens an internal space that becomes habitable for perception. And alongside the fold appears the delay: the work's own time. The delay is not romantic slowness; it is an ethical and perceptual condition. It is the decision not to surrender everything to the instant, to demand presence, to create a place where the gaze does not "consume," but remains.

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In my way of thinking about form, geometry is fundamental: not as ornament, but as a structure of order, as a way of understanding the world. This affinity resonates with influences such as Pablo Palazuelo, for whom geometry is energy and thought; with Oteiza, who understands emptiness as an operation; with Chillida, who makes turns space into a matter; and with artists like Serra, who transform weight into experience. These references are not quotations: they are profound affinities with the idea that the work is not explained: it must be experienced. A relational vision of reality, close to David Bohm, also resonates in my research, as does a philosophical horizon traversed by the question of dwelling (Heidegger) and by the ethics of attention (Simone Weil): attention as resistance, as a form of truth.

My sculptural work embodies this search from a practical perspective: matter as a field of forces, emptiness as potential, and perception as the place where sculpture truly occurs. Each piece attempts to construct an order that does not close off, but opens up; a structure that does not dominate, but guides; a presence that doesn't shout, but rather sustains. Because, in the face of a society of dispersion, I'm interested in the work as a threshold: a place where time regains density and where form becomes—at last—experience.