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Untitled (4.81 mm x 2.95 mm, 0.43 ct, VS2 G) 


Diamond made with hair of people of the rarámuri community

Four ink-jet prints 39.37 × 59.06 inches each



A diamond, of the size and quality described in the title, is placed between the artist’s fingers; she carries out her everyday activities, keeping the gem between her thumb and index finger for 24 hours. A selection of four photos, taken to document different moments of the action, testifies to the process and to the incision the diamond leaves in her hand. 

The consciousness of being is something that can be obtained in many fashions, sometimes in those moments of clarity in which one understands one's presence in space, in which one becomes an observer of one's own biological design. Thoughts provoked by traumatic or poignant moments, by small things -those that can be held in one's hands- which generally only grow in importance via collective perception.

In the morning, I nervously held a costly diamond between my fingers. In the afternoon, the 4.88 mm of carbon crystal made me stare at my hand in puzzlement. Hours later, I was ready to drop this nameless thing, bored even by its brilliance.


4.81 mm x 2.95 mm, 0.43 ct, VS2 G

The Hoarder

Daniel Odija

The Hoarder

Humankind’s secular madness is contained in a tiny diamond: we grant minerals an excessive importance. People treat them like coins that can buy happiness; in their name, wars are waged that annihilate families and entire communities. They are capable of selling love in exchange for a little glittering thing. They believe that their subsequent wealth will bring them freedom, but they become slaves to their own desires. There is only one way to break free of that desire: to absorb it. To digest it, expel it, and stop thinking about it. Nonetheless, it is easier to express and understand than to do.


A Point On The Map Of The Body

A diamond held between two fingers for a whole day can be as bothersome as a stone in a shoe or a toothache. After a while, we can think of nothing other than this point on the body as it grows more and more painful. We don’t realize how happy we are when nothing hurts until pain commands our entire attention. We close ourselves off to the world, reduced to our own pain, to our longing for the pain to vanish as soon as possible. We rely on the passing of time to change what is into what was. And a hope springs forth within us: that even the worst will eventually disappear.



Time can consume even the hardest stones. Human beings, too. Our fate is usually decided in a single instant. To a dying person, a day is an entire era. Following the death of someone dear, we are left with a raw spot. It stings for the rest of our days. It won’t freeze the course of time, because, among the multitude of beings around us, certain people appear in our lives who will never be replaced by anyone or anything. Although faulty memory slowly erases the image of a lost love, it won’t be able to suppress the thoughts returning again and again. I miss you!


The Hoarder’s Rainbow

A rough diamond is worth less than one cut by man. This is an expression of our scorn for nature and our tendency to overestimate human products. Why does the diamond, carved out of a rough stone, so powerfully ignite our imagination and our greed? We don’t appreciate it for being the oldest carbon in the world, guarded by our ancestral codes. We are blinded by its brilliance. The diffraction of light along its frequently polished edges. A nonexistent rain- bow. A radiance impossible to entrap or contain. An illusion perceived as something real.



Mariano drank water and alcohol. Perhaps more alcohol than water. After some time, Mariano saw that his youth had slipped away. So had love, which he lost to alcohol. His beloved left him a ring set with a fake diamond. Mariano had given it to her as a gift in times of love. Maybe he had believed that the dazzle of the false stone would enchant her forever, join- ing her to him. But it was just a fake diamond. Mariano carried it around in the pocket of his pants, which were increasingly dirty. Because he had lost his house and the clothing he could have changed into. He lived among cardboard boxes, and the ring was his only jewel, the only reminder of his happiness. One day, Mariano passed his beloved on the street. She was with a man. She didn’t recognize Mariano in the tattered, slovenly man before her. Mariano threw the ring at her. But that didn’t change his luck. His beloved didn’t even turn around. From that moment onward, Mariano saw the world through the diamonds of his tears. It was the world of false desires. 


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