I told him as soon as I saw it. That this space, regardless of the pieces it housed, already had artistic value in itself. And not as a courtesy, but as a certainty. In the textures, in the materials, in the way of ordering the void, in the precise lighting of each work, was its entire language. A language that I had been recognizing for many years in his paintings, in his sculptures and in his reliefs, and which there appeared expanded, breathing in another dimension.

That was perhaps the most exciting thing about the visit: feeling that I was not in front of a simple exhibition hall, but in front of a place conceived by a deeply creative mind. A space capable of supporting the work, but also of extending it. Letting it be seen from inside and out. Making the showcase not a limit, but another form of presence. Even closed, the place continues to dialogue with the street. It continues to show. It continues to care. It continues to speak.

And then there was, of course, everything that never depends on the space, but always appears when I'm with Carlos. The conversation. That way we have of almost immediately getting into what's important, what's confidential, what truly matters or enlightens. Over the years we have shared very different moments, life stages, intuitions, doubts, joys, blows, and certainties. We are not people who need constant frequency to sustain the bond. We are content with that kind of deep recognition that is still there every time we meet.

That's why this visit had several layers at the same time. It was the joy of seeing him in a solid, mature, clearly his own moment. It was the emotion of seeing that his work continues to grow without losing truth. And it was also something more intimate: seeing how someone I have admired for so many years has been able to shape a space that betrays nothing essential, but rather makes it even more visible.