...it was Donald Judd who dreamt about Brancusi when the latter was buckled under the attractive veracity of the earth and materials and high spaces where the only volume is the density of the air. Which of the two options was the successful one? The only one possible: the form that builds itself eternally assuming the gravitational dependence of the object, and the desire for the latter to raise itself above its own slavery. Let’s say this in another way: innocent strategies of someone who knows, like the human, he is made from the dual condition of being master and servant in the same psychology. Or rather: astute games of chained (however impossible) repetition. Or perhaps: as nothing is equal to nothing, we obscure the sight searching for the minimal existing difference in any equivalent form. Another possibility: could we define art as the factuality that generates a differential fact on the basis of the infinite structural transgression of a unique, eternal desire? In reality is was not Judd who dreamt about Brancusi, or the latter who prefaced the former, but both knew too soon that only the form defines the gesture and any repetition is, infallibly, the eternal insistence on the obscure geometry of the soul...




exhibitions: