The house wakes up at night. The wooden ceilings creak. The bricks radiate the sun’s heat. The walls whisper the words kept hidden during the day. The seconds. The decades. The house holds a spiraling, growing cycle, fueled by repetition and the accumulation of footsteps.

Listening to the act of dwelling that becomes history, which becomes an insistent word which becomes noise, Juliana Correa reconstructs the conversations without return of solitude. Through domesticated objects, she composes and breaks down her writing with the same repetition found in hierarchical and obedient upbringing.

Through pictorial rewriting, embroidered, unraveled, cut, she disolves a presence. Turning it into a palimpsest-like texture, blurring it with layers of itself. Isn’t what we perceive as emptiness proof of the space the other occupies in the home, within us?

Almost a decade ago—if it were possible to pinpoint a beginning to these processes—the artist’s pieces, which were once made to dress a body, began to claim space for themselves. In ‘Ausencias’, they return to a body, but to become a body in their own right, folding and rolling, with precise stitches to create volume and with an awareness of their material nature.

Now, the sheets, pillowcases, handkerchiefs, dust cloths, remnants of dresses, and pillows have taken their place in the space, detached from the three-dimensional objects that usually hold them. They formed a sort of fragmented textile house where all the words dwell. They took on an architectural proportion where all the bodies that once lived there come back to life. Where the information of all the stories of a home is within reach of the most subtle senses. To avoid repeating them, perhaps. If only. But also to shed light on the simple times that now seem fictional, yet are by no means impossible.

- Andrea Domínguez Ramírez