Rafael Álvarez

“The metamorphosis of an action”
To repair the time,
To mend a moment.
To fix the irreparable, to remedy what is unavoidable
To become fixated on the clock, a moment in space,
To repair in time, from the first drop spilled in your stealth.
Ending up in the urge that insists on the unhinged.
To compose the silence.


Am I a Silversmith if I work with Silver? Am I a jeweler if I work with Gold and stones? Am I contemporary jeweler if I work with cardboard? I am an artist jeweler, does this category exist in Latin America?
Is who I am determined by the materials I use? Or by what I make?
Am I forward-thinking if I work with 3D technology? Am I old-fashioned if I work exclusively manually?
My tools are imperfect, textured, sloppy, as what they are for. They are expressive like an elephant in a glassware.
They emerge from my body, like an extension of it. They are unsophisticated.
My tools are transparent, they can be seen.
They are manual, with a long tradition, but they change, they mutate if necessary and if I ask them.
My tools improve me, guide me.
They are part of a manual labor that endures and allows my hand to be seen in the finished work.
My tools are my body, like the pencil that writes the learning text
The tools are the Ornament, in the cosmos of identity.