When I was nineteen, I had an experience that could perhaps be described as transcendental. Walking on a country road one day, I saw an abandoned house. I remember walking into it before losing consciousness due to exhaustion from the oppressive heat and humidity of Uruguayan summers
I vividly remember the moment when an abstract painting by Matta captured my imagination as a seven-year-old. I was flipping through an old textbook, and an image sucked me in like a whirlpool or wormhole of sorts, into the inner world of the artist.