Lotte van den berg for me it is still a mystery, but something to know. like a presence that manifested itself to come and give me certain clues, but that like a ghost I couldn't catch up. Haunted landscapes of the anthropocene was my first approach to it, and it was the way she presented the idea of the ghost to me, as an enchanted serpent from another world, but also as a toxic cloud from chernobyl. I decided to connect with the group through letters. I sent them three e-letters during the process, from different time zones, it felt as if the world map could fold in two and connect us, they as ghosts to me, me as ghosts to me. She asked me for a starting point. She invited me to think of an abandoned place that could be in the center of the city. and in a very particular way, indeed the day that we spoke by zoom with Lotte, she and I to find out how to work, a fire was taking place in the center of the city that would burn two churches. and The day after our conversation that was already an abandoned place. I chose a sentence from the book: What kind of human disturbance can life on earth endure? She invited me to leave my cell phone, let go of virtuality, give myself to know a place not as a tourist, not as a colonizer, trying not to leave traces. I never went to that church until it burned down. This reaffirms that I have always been interested in things a little destroyed, with a little suffering on top. The new never caught my attention. As Buyul chun han says, the new offers no resistance. What is really beautiful for me if it offers resistance. These days I slept well. I remembered that for contemplation a particular internal state is necessary. A look that opens inside me, that allows me not only to look but also to enter things through the look. Really enter into relationship with them. Lotte invited me to write about the place after we had gone. Write from that portal that opens between you and the place. Later, on the second day they invited me to write a dialogue between non-physical entities, I made the apostles speak of a burned painting, the dome of the church, a woman happy to sing no more, half of the virgin who was he lost and is celebrating, at the doors that blamed each other for having let in those who burned the church. Finally the light that enters through the windows spoke, like a ghost present from before the churches existed and that will prevail after they all disappear. that all things disappear, when we are all ghosts. I had very good moments contemplating that light, remembering, opening inside me again that way of looking at the light, as something that burns everything, that ages us all, that finally makes us ghosts. This possibility of connecting with this space in this way opened me up to the idea of ​​creating a site-specific festival, which I presented for Piersandra .. Imaginary for now, but that like a ghost can also become real. By doing this for the first time, I had an approximation of what curatorship could be for me. Somehow I have a relationship now with those churches, a relationship with those ghosts, and that third party, doing a performance there will remain as a debt for now. Like, an act or a rite to be consummated. Today, from this laboratory, I think of the performative act as a gesture of entering into relation with multiple dimensions and making them visible. the salvation of the beautiful.

My first text

Yesterday two churches fell And it is not a metaphor My country burns

I transit through the streets The city center burns Is devastated The screams, the sound of the protesters, the smell of tear gas reaches our windows, there is a longing for a better time to come, but meanwhile the country burns,

yesterday two churches fell, And it is not a metaphor, I did not leave my home, I realized I was scared, there is so much anger, I also have anger, there is so much inequality, I have also inequality, but the country is burning

today I go for a walk in the streets, with bicycle, without camera, I stand in front of the burned church, I believe in God, but maybe in another god, not in the god of that church, I believe in a ghost god, manifested in plants in animals in the eyes of the people I love, and in the strangers who appear to tell me again: that another god exists, however, even though it's not my church …

Something hurts about that image: what hurts me is that it was the police, the police who burned the church, and it is not a metaphor, they infiltrate the vulnerable, to transform them into culprits and then shoot them in the eyes

I feel on the borders on the borders, in the place of those who observe I stop with an archaeological look 200 years later Even though it only seems like a day. And I pick up the pieces of a virgin divided into two pieces with my gaze the country is burning I see what remains, charcoal, danger signs, bits of burnt wood, the origin of a pandemic, one deeper than the coronavirus, the pandemic of hate,

we're going to stick to each other before true extinction comes but I trust that the trees will pervade plants will prevail When all this is over, the morning dew will fall on the virgin and a couple of birds will make their nest.

I trust that god who does not need humans to continue existing Two churches have burned down Two women from Venezuela come to talk while I contemplate the church, They are religious and pressured They tell me how communism will burn with everything How Foreign Influences Will Make Dictatorships Come I just silently look at the church that remains She persists One's eyes get cloudy Are you not afraid? Asks me I nod my head They stand by looking at the church I silently clasp my hands in a prayer position and walk away,

Something in me sees its own country as something that has already ended. Perhaps as something that I never felt my own and that is now more alien to me. There are still four minutes. I go back to the news image Chile is on fire International eyes are on us again We look like barbarians burning the churches Others write Others burn I did not grow to burn. I admire that bravery. However, I would prefer not to leave traces … I would rather not leave traces, to pass freely and silently in front of the two women. Don't tell them my story. Just praying to the plants, to the ghosts of a society that lost its sense of being society.

Here is the link of my work during this Lab with Lotte van den Berg: