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A couple of people asked me recently in separate occasions what drives me when I make. And both times I said, honestly thinking about it every time, that it is the story. I know when something is complete when the story comes together. Most of the time I don't know the story before I start making, although often I have a hint, a word, an image, an item that I want to work with, and I don't stop working until I'm satisfied. And what satisfies me, is the story that connects the dots. In fact, once I'm satisfied, I usually keep on working. It is exactly at that point that I start working even harder, very intentionally, feverishly, because I see the path and I'm decided to follow it. This is what happened with the sculpted creature here. I knew I wanted texture, an extra sculptured element. I had a background image that had developed through a process of trial and error until it made sense. There was some space that asked for attention. I added a blob, it looked shinny and interesting, but it was not enough. I already had at that point the general idea of a creature protecting the figure (or at least what I saw as a figure) in the background, so then I intently started working towards making it clear, at least to me. And since I had a story, once the image was complete I felt the need to enhance it with a poem, heroic and just a tiny bit cheesy, like a pure heart.
The painting is 20x20, acrylic on canvas (including the 3D elements). I will protect youI will protect youfrom the thingthat tails you throughwind and rain.From what finds you in the sunand drags youback below. I willbe the guard dog, the watcher, the catcher, the shield the amulet, the one whose soul you touchedand did not hurt.
Trash-or-art sessions are a mix of meditation, fun, repurposing and upcycling. It's an excellent way to activate (personal) archives in a generative manner. Boxes interest me a lot as forms, for the possibilities, the constraints and the metaphors they offer. Inevitably they become little shrines, full with emotions and memories that overcome their fragmented nature and fuse into new existence: An old photo cut in pieces, a found button, a broken earring, a piece of pastel from my childhood. In a similar manner, I can create a whole moment: A beach scene, fireworks, a starry night, a crab coming out of the sea, mixed with thoughts, anxieties, a humanity that persists and mingles with 'nature' and machine.
Join me and let's create wonders together!
After "The Final Clash" and "A Bird's Hunger", the third scroll in the Witch of Bubbles epos is ready. I still need to find a fitting name for the bundle, hopefully something more imaginative than The Blue Scrolls, although that could also serve the purpose of igniting curiosity when said with deep voice in the mist. The story is growing from the inside, gathering volume and substance, the writings are longer as there are more elements to connect. I love the process as much as I enjoy the result. Again, the starting point is an experimental print, an image that brought a story to my mind, and the rest is just fun and subtle commentary. You can order a copy at philomuse's store!
Part(y)ings and Meetings On Ibikonos, nothing ever ended. The days didn't last long and the nights felt like an eternal fluctuation between sunset and dawn. The beats were hard and gravity optional after midnight. The Mighty Giraffe belonged there. He wore mirror sunglasses and Hawaiian shirts tailored by beings with six arms and no sense of restraint. And that was how he danced across the span of three dance floors, knocking over a moon here and there, while he casually sipped drinks that fizzed, drinks that glowed, and drinks that changed form. He was a beloved figure of the island that drifted through intergalactic space like a very confident mistake, pulsing with music, light, and the certainty that whatever was happening was important. And then, DJ TCTBT (TooCoolToBeTrue) got on stage. She was also wearing mirror glasses and Mighty Giraffe will always remember how the stars dimmed when she took place behind the decks, in a sequin jacket that shone brighter than all the three suns that revolved like orange, pink and lime neon disco balls in the iridescent vanilla sky of day. From the first notes of DJ TCTBT's set, the Mighty Giraffe felt it: His long neck was vibrating in unprecedented resonance, as if someone had finally tuned him correctly. He was unmistakably in love, which in retrospect did not improve his judgment. That set lasted five centuries, and for seven more afterwards The Mighty Giraffe would argue that these were the best five centuries of his uncalculably long life. During that time he learned new moves, tried new drinks, made new friends, and certainly didn't want that set to end. But, like all things except ancient beings that Time simply forgets, DJ TCTBT's DJ set one day came to an end, and she disappeared in the rainbow fog created by the fog artisan High Head Dragon, whose services cost the organizers one third of the revenue. Ibikonos continued and you can still hear the booming bass, as the party planet is drifting across the galaxies. For the Mighty Giraffe, however, things would never be the same. He had experienced the Perfect Moment, the mystical and extremely rare convergence of Time and Space where all things reach equilibrium, also known as Nirvana III in…
The first publication of project philomuse is ready! It's a combination of stories of plants that thrive away from their lands of origin and testimonies of experiences of migration. The subjective map becomes again an excellent medium for simulating both movement and connection. The illustrations (with the exception of the pistachio, which I made myself) are emojis, so commonly found in text messaging, which has become second nature for mobile populations. I can definitely see this map as part of a larger project, similar to identitours.You can order a copy at philomuse's store!
From the introduction: "The pistachio trees, the parrots, and I, all come from warmer lands. This daily view becomes the starting point for bringing together stories of plants and people who have taken root and thrived in unexpected places, as proof that everything's going to be all right, as we move, replant, reroot – and thrive." Philomuse will be present at the Extraterrestrial Publishing Zine Fair, at Dokhuis, Rotterdam, on 31/01/2026.
After the Final Clash, one more image emerged, this time through a more intentional process. What looked at me from the paper was clearly a girl talking to a dragonfly in an open field. While I was writing and preparing the publication of "The Final Clash", already in love with the scroll as a publishing format, I was considering turning that second drawing into the background story of the Witch of Bubbles. Meanwhile, a friend saw the drawing and proclaimed it was a pirate ship emerging from water. That's when I decided to open the subject online, which brought a third vision, that of the baby bird with open beak, in a nest. Effectively, "A Bird's Hunger" fuses all these interpretations, and is therefore a philomuse publication, as the collaboration element is central. Further, it is an addition not only to the saga inaugurated by "The Final Clash" but also to the scrolls, which will hopefully grow in number.
A Bird’s Hunger At the edge of the marsh, a girl with a long crinoline dress was marching among the thinning reeds, jumping over the little streams that rushed along toward the sea. A dragonfly the color of old copper and river-glass followed the girl, and despite its frantic winging it struggled to keep up. Still it found time to tilt its head, as if the world were a riddle worth solving. The girl, both fierce and awkward, marching like bobbing fire through the uneven marshlands, was thought by some to be a princess, coming as she did from a household of tapestries and velvet curtains, while others called her a witch, because she had been seen talking to the moon and nodding to the wind. “They’re here,” the girl said and the dragonfly vibrated, affirming the rumors that had been moving beneath the water. They stopped and turned their gaze to the bay. The world fell silent. Next to them, in the crook of a sparse and naked wind-bent tree, a nest trembled. A small bird lifted its head and opened its beak to the sky but didn’t make a sound. The girl looked from the nest to the water, and from the water to the dragonfly. “They’re starving,” she said. “Yes,” said the dragonfly. “What are you going to do?” At that moment the water bulged, as if the sea were holding its breath. The featherless bird pipped faintly. Then the water began to split, and the bow of an enormous ship rose slowly to the surface with a creaking sound, like a heavy door opening. This was a pirate ship returning from the place where lost things go, a construct of both reality and myth, unkempt and majestic at once, its golden sails unfurled, its carved figurehead blinking free. The girl felt the old pull in her chest: She could sense what the ship was bearing, and the bird’s hunger was the omen which told her that what she sensed was true. The ship drifted closer, its…