Eduard Moreno shows us that things are not, but we make them to be. Through painting, prnting, installations and mediation, he questions the institutions that, in their appearance as benefactors of culture, also replicate practices of 'the colonial' and, in their eagerness to conserve, strip the meaning from what they keep.

For the X edition of the Premio Luis Caballero, with the project 'Provocarse el archivo', he intervened the Museo Santa Clara (formerly a cloistered convent), where he brought the Catholic confession to the secular present of the building by offering painted fingernails in exchange for confessions; an alternative archive was displayed in microscopes, made up of the lint, spider corpses and odd earrings collected from the museum floor, confronting the sacred and the mundane meaning of the eschatological (death and waste, what deserves to be preserved and what must be swept away). Finally, he hid the archive of paintings, sculptures and reliefs behind black curtains, so that each participant could decide whether to leave them hidden or unveil them.

Eduard Moreno frequently visits the idea of archive, both as a practice and as an institution. In 'Mal de archivo', conservation appears as a loss, because it distances objects from the context that makes them sacred, pointing out that an archive needs to be looked at in order to preserve its meaning.

He frequently goes from the vertical frame to moving the painting through space. In 'Echar por tierra', a solo exhibition at NC ARTE, the artist used mining equipment to move drawings of mining maps on carbon paper to question the idea of extraction, the traditions and the ancestral and colonial legacies surrounding this practice.

Other recurring materials in his practice are residues of industrial processes and traditional practices, inevitably loaded with historical or symbolic information, such as copper - conductor of both practical and magical energies - sometimes coming from computer cards, or the ashes of agricultural burnings of potato fields.

The carbon paper often appears as a limbo between the original image and the copy, between what is real and what will disappear, resonating with the childhood memory of a diffuse border between the rural and the urban of the neighborhood where he grew up in Bogota, combined with the same Latin American sensation of “having been something”, what he calls in his statement “ancestral ghostliness”.