Discipline
Skin as the support and the needle as the brush. Each series is a chapter of a diary written on the body.
The horizon of the places that made him, stitched with needle and thread onto the palm of his own hand.
The body as a living diary. The skin as the pages on which a life is written.
Small photographs of his loved ones, placed beneath the skin of his palm: the body as a shelter for memory.
Thirteen images about the closing of a chapter. Berlin, and the return home.
A house suspended on the palm of the hand: the invisible ties that hold up who we are.
The dandelion seed as a metaphor for what we set free to fly.
We are as fleeting as the wind, and like it we fly.
Retratos de sus seres queridos con semillas de diente de león sobre el rostro.
The lockdown, and a window turned into a portal.
The inherited memory of his grandmother Lolina, who relived the Civil War as Alzheimer erased the recent past.
Flowers that speak for us: a silent language for the emotions that words cannot describe.
Sewing a glove and a sock onto his own skin: the layers with which we protect ourselves from the world.
Family portraits trapped in blocks of ice that, as they melt, distort and disappear.
Sewing to the skin the portrait of the one we love: the bonds that hold us and also wound us.
Dos manos cosidas entre sí que, en un vídeo, deshacen lentamente las puntadas: el amor que sostiene y también hiere.
After being diagnosed with progressive hearing loss, David Catá sinks the accordion of his childhood into the sea.
A seed germinates beneath the skin of his hand: to grow without renouncing the roots of the origin.
His brother slips his fingers beneath the skin of his hand: the body as a shared refuge.
The hands of his loved ones, embroidered until they converge on a single point on his palm.
The house of his grandparents in A Venta (San Cibrao), rebuilt to scale before handing over the keys, with roots growing inside.
