-Our work is grounded in activating the imaginaries of the Ecuadorian Amazonian nationalities, primarily Sapara and Kichwa, of which members of our collective are part. Dreaming is not a metaphor but a method: it is a device of knowledge and a form of political and spiritual orientation.

In our narratives, the human and the nonhuman coexist as equivalent presences - as agencies that think and act. Living alongside the forest, the community, and a territory violated by extractive activities and everyday aggressions shapes our visual and sonic language.

We seek to rethink colonialism not in order to repeat it, but to tension and overflow it - narrating from our own perspectives. We use Western instruments such as cameras, yet we displace them from their original function and reappropriate them, making them our own as tools of resistance. We replace hierarchical forms with modes of creation consistent with Indigenous organization, where decision-making is collective and grounded in respect for the territory.

-Our grandmothers and grandfathers embody an archive that breathes. The knowledge transmitted by their ancestors is not a dead document but a living practice, transformed through each experience.

Working with living archives means recovering what was taken by the West and reactivating those images to grant them new meanings - rewriting history from our own perspective. We do not seek to romanticize or objectify cultures, but to affirm the bonds that sustain us, because everything has life and everything is interconnected.

The archive lives in oral transmission, in ceramics, in songs, in language, and in the territory itself.

-The language we propose destabilizes Western structures of reading. It does not merely represent; it produces experience and positioning. It is a sensitive form of knowledge that shares ways of life without fully translating them.

Some knowledge is not exposed, because care is also a form of resistance. We invite rebellion, discomfort, and reflection as critical gestures. Our works stand in defense of life, of the body, of freedom of expression, and of the territory.

-For years, others spoke for us and interpreted our practices through Western frameworks. Yet art and its interpretation are situated.

What has been named “art” from the outside does not always align with our understanding, because for us it implies a different relationship to life. We are often positioned within folklore, our work romanticized, or we are placed in the position of the Other.

For us, it is important to deactivate that distance and occupy the same level of appreciation - not as a quota of diversity, but as a production of knowledge with equal symbolic value.

-The viewer does not occupy a passive place; they are called into relation. The work is a space of encounter where looking implies responsibility. It is not only about observing an image or a body, but about listening to a living territory, a river that walks, a memory that persists.

The one who looks decides whether to remain distant or to allow the experience to transform them. It is one culture crossing into another - or into itself. The ethics of the viewer are activated when they recognize that they too are part of the fabric that sustains or threatens life.

-Territory is identity. Not all of us come from Indigenous peoples, but we all work in close relationship with the Amazon rainforest and share a history of anti-extractivist activism. The struggle in the territories of Amazonian peoples is a daily struggle.

Within the territory lives our living memory - our stories and our languages. Not only the spoken language, but the one we trace in our projects, the one we constantly weave. We learned to listen and to see through dreams; that sensitivity guides our practice.

Our way of life revolves around a union with the forest: we are part of the forest, and the forest is part of us.

-In our culture there was no rigid division between matriarchy and patriarchy, but rather a system in which men and women shared social, spiritual, and political roles horizontally. With the intervention of religion and the State, those forms were displaced. Recovering that memory means reinstating care as an organizing axis. Responsibility is collective: we listen, deliberate, and reflect together on how to act and how to build, maintaining energy in balance so as not to affect creation.

Those with deeper spiritual formation accompany the process through the use of medicinal plants and counsel. Care is fundamental to our artistic practice.

-I think of indeterminacy as a question that may be unanswerable from an only-human standpoint, and I treat that limit as the engine of the work, not something to resolve into certainty. Pily Estrada, a dear friend of mine, wrote recently that I “resolve the poetic through a scientific methodology,” and I recognize myself in that. It describes very well how we work at Studio Antimundo: through research protocols, collaborations with specialists, and material procedures that operate at the margins of what Western science can stabilize or explain. Indeterminacy, then, is not ambiguity as a look. It is a way of building works as evolving systems and experiments that remain open to what cannot be fully translated, and what only becomes partially legible through encounter.

-In my practice, scientific and ancestral epistemologies intersect without hierarchization because they operate as parallel modes of inquiry, not as competing authorities. They are placed in co-presence as distinct registers that remain different while entering into dialogue and friction. This is visible in how cybernetics is used within Studio Antimundo, as an open, transdisciplinary “matrix” through which systems continuously mutate between the biological and the artificial, the physical and the virtual.

-The “Anti-world” or Antimundo performs a critical function by exposing the limits of the hegemonic world: the normative frameworks that decide what counts as real, valid, and even thinkable, and that systematically erase other cosmologies, agencies, and futures. Rather than positioning itself as a simple inversion of the dominant world, Antimundo operates as a method, a cybernetic matrix where science, fiction, and non-human perspectives converge, to reveal how reality is continuously produced through mediations, classifications, and technological “black boxes.” In that sense, it challenges the assumption that reality must be organized through a single coherent system, and instead proposes a pluriversal condition: multiple worlds coexisting, expanding what can be sensed, thought, and inhabited within the same planetary present.

-Emerging technologies appear in my work as instruments of relations. In classical Western taxonomies, like Linnaeus, the world is organized through separation: minerals, plants, animals, as if entities were stable and self-contained. A relational ontology starts from the opposite premise: things are not first “something” and only later connected; they are what they are through their relations. That is why I’m drawn to AI, data models, simulations, and algorithmic systems. They don’t describe essences, they trace patterns, dependencies, and networks, and they reveal reality as a dynamic field of interactions rather than a collection of isolated objects. I think my practice allows viewers to sense how networks actively produce one form of reality. 

-I think I’m interested in sensing, through the work, how more-than-human agencies co-produce what we encounter as reality. What is normally understood as separate starts to register as entangled. Cognitively, I want to question default taxonomies and linear explanations, and shift attention toward relations that exceed a single point of view. I’m interested in making perceptible connections that were already there, but not yet perceived.  

-The encounter with TAWNA expanded my practice by introducing an embodied epistemology into dialogue with my conceptual frameworks. I like how TAWNA foregrounds relational knowledge grounded in territory, ritual, sexuality, and dreaming as living technologies. My practice and TAWNA’s meet in the point where sensing becomes a technology, a device for understanding life on Earth and its relations.

-In my practice, coexistence means holding space for friction, not trying to smooth differences into a single language or a single truth, and letting that tension shape the form, the method, and the way the work is encountered. I’m drawn to situations where different worlds meet but don’t fully translate: scientific protocols alongside ancestral logics, human intentions alongside non-human agencies, technological systems alongside speculative narratives. Coexistence, then, is not harmony; it’s composition under conditions of mismatch. I don’t think my artworks try to “decode” a message; they rather enter a field of relations, and the work becomes a lived experience of multiple registers sharing space without collapsing into consensus.