(Spanish) I finished a great anthology last year entitled, “Sumballein,” which also deals with Japan, the memory of ceramics, the physical part of the material, the ceramic element, the objects, and the breakage [that occurs] in firing [process], and the possibility that [always exists] that the pieces break in the oven. In short, [the pieces] do not survive. And in my case, [there is] persistence and the need to put the pieces together [to] make them whole again, fusing them with new firings. I am reminded of my Japanese teachers who tossed the broken pieces into the river and did not want to use them anymore. I hid the pieces, their pieces, underneath some rocks and they came and shouted at me, saying that I was stealing from them, that I had to break them and return them to nature in order to start the process anew, [and] to search for that perfection. Sometimes I responded that it seemed to me that I did not have such a feeling for perfection or imperfection, that it all was part of the journey. Twenty years later I saw my teacher again and he had saved one of the cups that I had put aside of his work that should have been tossed into the river to become broken pieces and sand, [in short], to return to Mother Nature, and I had put it away as a symbol of this commentary that I made for him, and he…we have a great relationship. This work, “Sumballein,” was also very important because of this feeling [that I had] to recall the relationship [that exists] with being a ceramist, [and] with Japan. Nevertheless, I would say that if I had to have a book or some written material [with me], it would have to be [of a] more technical [kind] from the perspective of the research involving aesthetic analysis, of the history of art, in short. The last two works, “A Zen Parable and Ten Short Stories,” [exhibited] in the Cultural Center, and the earlier work entitled, “Only Clouds,” [which is] dedicated to my father [and found] in the Cultural Center of the Ministry of Foreign Relations, have been more gaseous examples of my work, more ethereal, more compact, hermetic, very personal in a very special way. [These works] made me do things that I would not have done otherwise, to write in this way, to dedicate a song sung to my father in the other work. And I believe that there is an important moment for me, of realizing that perhaps I need to finish things that I started. One moves forward in life, making objects, exhibits, developing exhibits in a given space, getting to know people, to go [places], [to] travel, in short, and suddenly one thing increases the façade, the crab shells, the removal of the skin always increases [such things], at some moment perhaps it is important to leave aside so much initial appearances, so much shell, and to begin again to take account of what is most essential. I hope [my work] expresses such things. The most difficult part is to remain honest; I always say how difficult the next step is, now I feel a great emptiness, the space of neutrality in order to begin from scratch and to try to begin to say things.