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Everyday furniture renounces its primary purpose of shelter here, standing instead as a visual and tactile trap. Before this rustic wooden chair of modest proportions, whose diminutive height of sixty centimeters evokes both a humble domestic environment and the vulnerability of a child's seat, the viewer's body reacts with an involuntary alertness. What vernacular design conceives to offer rest and comfort is suddenly transformed into an uninhabitable surface, armed to wound.

A dense, relentless mass of sharpened spikes completely covers the plane of the seat. Hundreds of small, pointed cones, arranged with an almost obsessive regularity, resemble a mineral tapestry or a prickly vegetation that overflows the edges of the plank and drips down the lower aprons. This hostility similarly colonizes the rails and uprights of the backrest, where the encrustations form a harsh armor. Against this perimeter siege, the four square legs retain the untouched coarseness of the original timber, with its brownish grain, visible joinery, and scars of use that reveal an authentic utilitarian past.

Light plays a decisive role as it strikes this field of spikes from the side: each cone casts a sharp, minute shadow, weaving a vibrating net of chiaroscuro that heightens the sense of danger and roughness. A violent contrast emerges between the linear composure of the load-bearing frame and the optical tremor of the intervened areas, where matter seems to defend itself against any human touch.

Under the title Ausente (Absent), the true center of gravity of the piece is the body that can no longer occupy it. The material aggression suggests readings ranging from the severity of punishment and childhood trauma to piercing grief or forced expulsion from the home. The chair is not merely vacant; the void has been barricaded to prevent return, turning the memory of absence into a painful, indelible physical presence.