"People ask me if I am angry that the work destroys itself," he says, pulling on his coat to leave. "No. The work is the destruction. The only crime would be pretending it isn't happening."
It is absurd. It is meticulous. It is quintessential Arce. As the interview ends, the humidifiers in the gallery next door switch off. The paper on the wall has begun to droop. In three days, it will fall. Arce watches it for a long moment, not with sadness, but with the clinical curiosity of a doctor observing a patient expire. rodrigo arce
"I am interested in the residue of bodies," Arce says. "Not the heroic gesture, but the sigh. The heat from the back of a knee. The condensation from a nervous palm." "People ask me if I am angry that