In the morning, while standing at one end of the beach, I see a glimmer of light shining among the grains of sand near the sea, twinkling as it reflects the sun’s rays. It is that hour when no one is walking yet and the sun, high in the sky, illuminates everything evenly. My feet, following my eyes, begin to run after the light so as not to let it escape. I scatter sand as I advance quickly, splashing grains here and there until I reach it. Before tackling it, I stop for a second to look back and realize the visible trail I’ve left in the sand along the way. How far I’ve come just for a grain of sand! I laugh softly, thinking about the effort I’ve just made. The sparkle, once in front of my eyes, looks much smaller than I imagined it would be. I could barely pick it up as I put my fingers into a pincer shape. It is incredible that my eyes were able to perceive it, I think, what precious matter could it be made of? As I look down, I notice that I am standing on several other bright sparkles that stretch out across the beach; the ones that, it seems, were washed out by the sea late at night, when the tide rises and leaves its mark on the sand. My eyes glide over the subtle trail of petrified stars that seem to mimic the dark night, which at that hour of full light and heat seems only a distant memory. I bend down for a closer look and grab a handful. I drop it slowly as I become absorbed in the ephemeral constellation that forms as the sparkles glide through the air. They remind me of the dust that dances in suspension as we look through a window, or the artificial rainbows that appear on the walls when light is captured by a crystal. I think of all the forces that are needed to meet at a single point in order to make us participants in these small revolutions of the world, often imperceptible or overlooked.

As Bachelard states, quoting Paul Valéry, there are certain things in the world, such as a crystal, a flower or a shell, that surprise and captivate us because of the mystery they represent, not so much because of their form, but because of their formation, how much power must unfold precisely at that point for a flower or a shell to be this or that way! How much we too must slow down in order to become part of such things.

Sometimes I look at snails with an envy that burns my eyes. So free to move slowly under the sun, drawing with their marvelous secretion a perfect work of art, and so dexterous to hide quickly in the face of any inclement situation they are confronted with. I wish I could be more of a snail, slower, more silent and imperceptible to move forward, forward and forward without anyone noticing; and I, quiet and prudent, would take the time to understand how the paused aspects of what surrounds me operate.

Josefina Valenzuela could be considered a snail-like artist for her ability to get in touch with the vibrations of the environment and for the multiple opportunities she gives to the underlying elements to express themselves in their own time and in their own way. If there are those who seek to bend the characteristics of certain elements, acting as true material dominators, there are others -like Josefina-who devote themselves to work with what these elements provide them, behaving as collaborators rather than tamers. The difference lies in the fact that the formers want matter to obey, while the latter want matter to express itself. Some look for the breakdown, others for the loosening up. The difference between those who lift weights and those who practice yoga.

In the exhibition “rasguños, caricias” at NAC Gallery, the artist presents the results of years of material encounters, which have allowed her to become the recipient of the different secrets that aluminum, cardboard or metal have confessed to her along her practice. “Whoever accepts the small wonders, is ready to imagine the big ones”, Bachelard says once again. From subtle alterations with heat and water, or through more energetic expressions such as engraving, the works Valenzuela shows us arise as revelations. They allow us to see what it is that constitutes their bodies, or what it is that our eyes or our hands manage to sense, but that we, due to our lack of experience, let slip away.