Inspirada en los agujeros negros, la instalación es imaginada como un santuario en el cosmos: el ritual funerario de una estrella masiva que es a la vez todos los duelos, todas las transformaciones. 

A sanctuary in the cosmos. My little quasar.

In the installation “From Collapse to Origin (Grief)” I take a poetic approach to scientific narrative in order to explore the connection between beginning and end—present both in cosmologies and in the singularity of black holes, as well as in the practice of funerary rituals.

On the floor of the room lies a mound of ashes. At its center, a black surface is revealed. A beam of light from a moving head fixture installed on the ceiling illuminates it from above. The lighting behavior is dynamic. Like a dance, the light varies in intensity, gradually widening and narrowing in sync with a dark ambient sound piece.
This spatial composition, shaped through sound and light, invites introspection. Around the sculptural center, there is space to pause, listen, and observe the slow changes in energy.

After the birth of my daughter, I began reflecting deeply on the arrow of time. I started reading about thermodynamics and became especially interested in the second law, which states that the entropy of the universe continuously increases. I wanted to give form to this idea in an artwork. I kept reading and arrived at one of the objects of maximum entropy: black holes. There I found this fascinating connection that inspired me.

In the collapse of a massive star, matter is compressed to an extreme degree and occupies an unimaginably small region of infinite density, defining a space-time singularity. This notion of singularity, which explains black holes, is also present in current cosmological theories. When it comes to a singularity, the laws of science reach a limit. Even professional physicists disagree on what should be expected to happen in such a case. Despite this, they converge on one point: the collapse of mass and the origin of the universe share an inexplicable nature.

Before science, ancestral humans formulated something similar through their mystical experience of the world. In fact, this connection between beginning and end is addressed, among other ways, through the consecration of spaces that promote a return to the original myth. Time and space are ruptured through ritual. In a sense, wherever and whenever it occurs, the prevailing laws cease to function.

I did not know then that what I would live through in the following two years would deepen this project so profoundly. A constellation of losses, a succession of griefs in a very short time—among them the death of my mother—ultimately shaped and gave meaning to this work.

Ash was already a signifier I wanted to work with, as a synecdoche of entropy, the trace of an irreversible process. Now, more than before, ash allowed me to invoke the funerary ritual: farewells, strategies for the presence of absence, transmutations that are portals.

The installation stands as testimony to that experience: a mark in space, an axis mundi pointing to the infinite gravity of a transformative event.