In the West, we use numbers to represent things, mathematical and geometric—even to symbolize space, order, movement or tension, but numbers hardly express other conditions of what is vital and human.
Working, intervening in the exterior of an object-space, geometrically perfect, prompted me to play freely with leather, seeking to redefine the notion of proportional perfection, to transform it into something living. hoping that the subject comes alive.
The pursuit of balance has always been a goal of human societies and of geometry; the golden number and golden ratio have served to provide objects and representations of aesthetic balance and harmonic reason. As i see it, this cultural awareness of harmony helps us make sense of the natural chaos that surrounds us and is part of us, like the reflection of a greater, boundless universe.
Speaking, thinking in these terms, I do think not in proportions and measurements. not in an aesthetic geometric balance, but in the priceless movement of things rather than a harmonic place or point in the distance, the space of transition that exists in two places or points in balance, its vibration.
Following the Fibonacci sequence, nature uses successions that are dimensionally proportional to the golden ratio, and that in a similar manner affect us too—our own structure, even our genetics.
If we carefully study the cephalopod mollusk, nautilus, whose shell is a reference for studies of the golden ratio, we note that it is not quite perfect—moreover, its exterior has nothing to do with its interior, and it is apparent that every specimen is unique in itself. every shell—here iʼll use the word skin—has its own drawing, color, touch and scar, thus distinguishing itself.
Given the perfect identity of a OneSixOne bag, I felt the need to signify its skin as being the reflection of a vital, destabilizing experience. in search of a singular energy, in sync with its organic component, leather—expressive hallmarks of vital stimuli and turns, like storms that move and breathe life. An expression of the unexpected, provoking the bag to breathe through the skin and come to life.
As a painter, working with natural leather, an unfamiliar material to me, has allowed me to see and feel with different eyes, to discover something very different but also very near. To rub, punch, show sensitivity—in short, to experiment with the notion of stable imbalance and the possibilities that emerge from an encounter with the unexpected. Everything has a reason, and perhaps that is also why it is always so different.