Color as Territory

Color, in my practice, is not a surface: it is a place. A territory where time suspends and perception expands. Every gradient I build emerges from an observation of the sky — that ephemeral space where light never repeats itself — and transforms into a way of thinking about the present: vibrant, unstable, impossible to fix.

On the lenticular surface, color acquires a living dimension. It shifts, changes, dissolves with the movement of the viewer. What seemed fixed becomes transit. What was static reveals itself as flow. That displacement does not seek to represent time, but to make it visible: to invite us to perceive it in its fragility, in its constant becoming.

Lenticular surface — detail of printing and color refraction.

My research departs from the intuition that seeing is also a way of inhabiting time. When we observe a gradient in transformation, we are witnessing something that will not repeat itself. In that brief instant, color becomes a perceptual experience, almost meditative, where the ephemeral acquires density.

Color, then, becomes territory: a space to think, to stay, to rest the gaze amid contemporary acceleration. Through it, I seek to build a visual cartography of the present — a way of making visible what normally slips between looking and thinking.

"Color, more than a surface, is a place where time stands still."