Over all these years, I have visited Carlos García's studio several times. Sometimes accompanied. Other times alone. And although each visit has had its own energy, they all share something difficult to explain precisely: the feeling of entering a place where creation is not decorated or prepared to be shown, but simply happens.
His studio, in a ground-floor flat in Gijón away from the center, is one of those spaces that have truly left their mark on me. There is an uncommon intensity about it. A kind of silent vibration that doesn't just depend on the artworks, but on the sum of everything: the laden walls, the pieces leaning against each other in a perfectly resolved chaos, the floor stained with material, the work materials, the sculptures in progress, the feeling of seeing not only results, but thought in a physical state. Everything seems to be placed with an internal logic that needs no explanation. Nothing is superfluous. Nothing is posed. Everything lives.
I've been fortunate enough to arrive there at different times, even when he was working on pieces or projects that hadn't yet been released. And perhaps that's why each visit felt somewhat privileged. But what endures most is not just the visual power of the space, but the quality of what happens within it. With Carlos, conversation always goes to a deep place. It's not light or polite conversation. It's one of those few conversations that expand time and make it more real. I always remember the classical music in the background, the calm, the level of intimacy, the pleasure of truly dwelling on what's important.
After that first work, others followed. Some purchased. Others given by him with that delicate generosity that is also part of his way of being. His pieces have accompanied me in different workspaces, in different homes, at different times of my life. And that means that entering his studio is never just a simple visit. It is entering, once again, a source of beauty that has also been a support for me.
