Jorge Castro Flórez

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.....My writing is part of the philosophy that pushes me in the course of my plastic work.

.....Not long ago I decided to start "giving rein" to the words implied.

.....Having discovered that art "feeds" (though it doesn't necessarily provide food), I was induced to follow a little sidewalk full of surprises leading to the world of arts. As a consequence, ever since the years 70, I have been exclusively dedicated to sculpture.

.....The tortuous voyage that stitched my life together, when surviving was supposed to be "passing between silences and shadows" - as a paradox - enormously enriched me.

.....In plastic arts I found the language that permitted me to express myself with freedom, thanks to the intimate support of words. Previously I had a romance with Euterpe and other Muses, with whom I keep maintaining a purely epistolar relationship.

.....I am not a writer, only an "Indian" with his backsack full of "richnesses" that I want to share, either cutting them up or modeling them.

                                                                                 Jorge Castro Flórez

detalle  de la obra -el desorden de las ideas


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.....Memory's whims situated him in the craziest places. From the seventh basement he extracted a great amout of scents, mixed with innumerable meaningless objects; such as an emormous scoop in a mature and steaming dump. 

.....Patiently he tried to match all these things, associating the scents with memories that also emerged in an involuntary way. Thus he modeled remnants of his past and putting them together, carefully making them match, he manufactured a beautiful bllanket with which he tried to cover that period. 

.....Already with his foot decidedly on the insecure road of the future, a yearned for hand posed on his shoulders the sideral cloak full of holes, at the moment that he felt warmth on his cheek.

.....And he cried, he cried for a measureless time, letting his dried tears, with tones of amaranth, form a rigid armor, until protecting, completely, that happy tenderness, fruit of the love she gave him... and let the cloak at the side of the road.

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