The pieces so calmly displayed in this catalogue and looking as if nothing in particular were going on, are really a collection of little hellish ghosts baked into life and born in Mexico.
In this exhibition, I want to open up the process of creation which is infused with streams of hellish thoughts.
Their creator, through a process of isolation, fear and grace, has made them into a marsh of letters...
So, this very evening, guided by evil spirits, let's take a boat ride through that marsh.
Both their friends and mine have already crossed for decades but, they don't seem to remember me.
Every time their creator feels, "No! No! They are not what I had wanted them to be."
At times, the boat sinks. Here there are no friends to help us.
Perhaps the marsh has many layers, and every time the boat is taking me to a different place?
Tonight's ghosts are strangely humorous, attacking us with riddles, dances, etc. One moment they're running away from our hurried replies, and the next countless of them fly on our path, circling and disappearing in a clamour.
Among them, some ghosts say "This way!", pushing us along from behind, and only then does our little boat seem to progress.
After some wrangling, we enter a silent darkness... All we can see ahead is darkness. But for sure something there is breathing.
With dread, we reach our goal, when, like a dream, a black hairless dog (the Mexican kind) is seen.
As our guide through the darkness, he awaited us alertly and in noble silence.
From the outset, this dog is our pilot through the underworld, fighting the evil spirits of the dead.
Are we to go even further into the underworld?
We softly embrace the hairless dog's skin, which is wet and shivering like a human's. Enchanted, we are set at ease.
The Xolo dog presses warmly against us, and softly invites us: "We are going to my world... don't worry".
Bewitched, and just when we think we're sinking into the darkness, we pull away from the hairless dog.
We come to our senses, and the dog's form is gone. Once again, like a lost child, we are left alone in the darknessc
Disheartened at first, we finally sigh in relief when, as if from afar, a flood of light suddenly drowns us, and an Indio band begins to play.
This wind orchestra, sounding like festival music, sinks into our heart's desert.
Out of nowhere, indigenous gods of protection, devils, spirits, skeletons and ghosts meet together, and dance to a nostalgic melody.
Our marsh of darkness connects with the world of the Mexican Indio.
They seem to kindly acknowledge us by saying, "You have indeed come a long way!"
Because this is not our world, when they say "a long way" they don't mean physical movement through a distance, but rather the movement of our hearts through pain and energy and imagery.
The words which the hairless dog, the spirits and us exchanged were not spoken ones, bur rather were heart sounds.
In the odd space of that heart sound came the breath of a universe that stimulates people's alpha waves.
Perhaps the word for that feeling is "Art"?
Anyway, our strength seemed to be ending. As we disappeared, we were transported to the past in a moment that absorbed us like a streak of light shining through the marsh's depth.
The pottery pieces, too, drowsily carry us back to the moment when we are born.
These fateful dolls are myself...
And even after our journey is over and we have said good-bye to them, they continue to re-awaken that strange world in which the past and the present are bound in a moment.