A figment of my imagination
EL NIDO LOS ANGELES
When an exhibition ends, the work does not disappear all at once.
For weeks afterward, I continue to walk through the rooms in my mind. I remember where each object rested, how the light met its surface, and the quiet conversations that formed between one work and another.
The exhibition has moved on. The room has returned to itself.
What remains is neither a catalogue nor a complete history, but a series of records. A climate report. A security transcript. An inventory. Documents that continue to observe a space after the objects have departed.
Whether factual or imagined, they attempt to describe something that cannot be measured: the lingering presence of what was once there.
