February 23 / April 25 2015

Nobody will miss you at the pack corresponds to the empty place someone leaves after passing away, and without belonging to anyone, it is not occupied, and belonging to all, it makes possible an upcoming death.

The shift from nothingness to something affects the compound in a way that every single individual is a possible victim of a catastrophe.

That shore between everything and nothing, again and again, in such fluctuation, appears, directing the flow of the events from the inside to the outside, the pack compact the death while drawing life, and the space frames that vitality and untack death in multiple strings.

The city of Mexico, with 22 million of inhabitants is traced with new tools, silent languages whose signs brace the new figure where time and city are re signified in the present, the gesture, the act, the knowledge. However, the experience doesn’t transcend and each day alters the recovery and the fact: the uncertainty of each part breaks up the possible progress, the half-truths never resolve complex and archaic necessities. The urban bands execute activities that go from the ritual to the survival and whose links infiltrate into the family model. Moris takes this to explain himself the city and its rules, and to position himself in his surrounding from his work that is, in itself, a visual essay. If from 2004 his language transcends in the art world, his personal context, inhabiting one of the poorest neighborhoods of the suburbs of the City of Mexico, persuade him to codify that of what he inevitably takes part in and from what you have to obtain very quickly the evidence, and leave.

There is a form of collecting and taxonomy, but also a poetical game that writes with the same characters used in the Infern by Dante, and the National Geographic documentaries of the wild life.

A possible scheme of triads: Trace/ Impression/ Recuperation, Constructions/ Assemblies/Destructions; Arms/ Defense/ Offense; Brands/ Places/ Limits; Movement/ suspension/ balance, Structure the cartography over which not only the artist, but the art free itself, paradoxically, in this claustrophobic battle without bands.

The system to which you belong is that where you are anomalous and it is only one. You have to identify yourself rapidly according to the demand to collect the materials in the stolen objects markets. Your have to act and dress in a way to get the piece of cloth over which a dog’s fight leaves its track, you have to talk with who knows where and when the fight will take place, to obtain the trace of a room where drugs are consumed and sold.

You need to belong, be beast, be litter, and be.

Fernando Carabajal

Artists /