Among other things, it’s hard for me to deal with the rain. I was born in 1985, in the south of Chile in Puerto Varas, a small rainy city, where progressively is replaced the vegetation by pavement. December, January, February are the months when the sun appears with the fake that the streets will be dry for more than a week. But it’s not like that, it just rains. Between 1995 and 2003 I had no more motivation than to skate on the days when it was not raining, and to do things related to art. That was the diet. I relegated the school to a minimum of effort since I hated it more than rain. I liked spending time away from home, with friends, skating, improvising with weight, gravity; tricks on the pavement, in architecture, in the city. Looking. We adhere our experiences to a vocabulary with which we redefine our environment. Playing. I have not patined for long time since then, but the movement is the same: I observe and improvise with what I find in the city. I Walk. I follow traces and clues, fragments of dissimilar realities. Pause. Since 2004 I live in Santiago, where the months without rain are almost nine. In the meantime, they paved the street outside the building where I live, and the weather does not seem to do tickles to it, bother, oppress or insult. It is an arrogant surface that extends to the city as a result of an undeniable needing. I wander. I warn. I stop on what has no value, what is excluded, what is rejected, then I take it and try to rename.