Angélica Ávila Forero


Museo Voraz, 2020
Editorial Laguna. Bogotá
Publication (installation version)

«I wanted to be a collector, but I didn't have the money. I would have liked to buy everything my friends made. Their paintings, drawings, ceramics and trinkets. I was sure that their names will become valuable and that I could speculate with their works. But I didn't have the money. I also wanted to have a work by someone very famous in my house, just for the pleasure of it. So that when gentlemen came to visit me, they would have something to talk about. That would have been the delicate object in the house: the one that prompted nervous shrieks. The reason why no one could play with soccer balls or dance while drunk. But none of that was going to happen. I didn't have the money.

Neither were the large room nor the wide walls, which are the first prerequisites for being a collector. And my friends and I like to dance while drunk. Besides, what I wanted was to get out of my house, but not to go build another house. I had no money, but I did have memory. And I didn't feel comfortable where I was. During the lockdown I didn't like my house. I tried sitting at every seat on the couch, in the dining room, at the counter, and on every toilet. I sat at the desk I had in my room and on my single bed. I stood on every part of the floor. And still, I didn't like it. I tried leaning against walls and lying on the floor, bounce around it or crawl about, but I couldn't feel comfortable. The house was not lacking space. It was something else. I do not know what. I was bored.

It comforted me to think about new spaces. I had no money, but I had memory, and writing is cheaper. I don't know if the other thieves were still practicing during the quarantine, or where they were stealing, but I decided to go hunting. Hence this imaginary museum. I stole works because I had no way to buy them and I archived them mentally, because there I had the space. Collecting gives me pleasure. I decided that my museum would not trade the works in its catalogue. That it would be a museum and not a gallery, because the works would not be for sale. The only reason they weren't for sale was that I hadn't bought them. After the crisis, I tried to ensure that all the works that I had collected had an assigned room. The ones that remained in Living Beings, whose walls I decided, I don't recall at which stage of the process, to paint the color of tutti frutti juice, were...»


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