Do not love people, […], we are constantly killing bit by bit the people we love, […] protect the pain that comes with beauty, keep your distance.

—Mónica Ojeda, Chamanes eléctricos en la fiesta del sol, 2024

When she opens her mouth to catch her breath, her chest immediately widens. Little by little, she releases her warm breath that melds with the burning heat coming from the fire. Her breath makes way -this gesture must be quick, since soon there won’t be room for corrections. It then turns into a void that, although invisible, turns into turmoil; it’s the breath that comes from within, the one that has allowed the creation of her shell, which, although solid, can break.

In this movement, new objects have surged that are no longer a gust, fluid nor heat. Liquids used to circulate through them but not anymore. Now they are hollow.

Lara Fluxà’s body produces formulas to trap air in tight spaces. The memory of a body, she sets in motion rehearsed gestures which produce glazed sculptures that she models from within. She also works with a miniscule space: the one her body and the object. A vibrant place. And it has its own entity.

If you get too close, it burns you. If you grab it hard, it breaks. If you stare at it, it blinds you. Keep your distance.

Firefly is an exhibition by Lara Fluxà in which the artist apparently takes more distance than in previous projects. Inspired by some of the elements that make up power plants, a series of metal structures are anchored to the walls of the gallery. From these supports, cables emerge that both delimit the space and house flying sculptures. There are other objects scattered throughout the rest of the room: several iron structures constantly interrupted by cylindrical pieces of glass in different colors, or a blunt whitish sculpture sitting on the floor among others. But the chosen title, Firefly, makes a direct reference to a certain insect, fireflies, light-bearing worms. These bugs, common in humid areas, practice a peculiar nocturnal courtship ritual. A complex dialogue between males and females that is triggered by a succession of flashes of light casted by each of them. 

The energetic climate generated through this intermittent flickering is what Fluxà’s interested in recreating within the environment she builds. The moment prior to the loving act can be more important than the act itself, the perfect moment to shorten distances: an instant of creation, of an energy in perpetual and tense happening, more imaginative than productive. The temporality that is created is malleable and changeable, glass-like qualities. Is also an open, inaugural moment that announces what is yet to come.

If you run your fingers across the wound, it stings. If you open it, it overflows. If you dig in, it hurts. Keep your distance.

—Blanca del Río