June Crespo – SOLAR: Galería Ehrhardt Flórez

There’s a subtle but decisive difference between “looking inside” and “seeing through.” Entering SOLAR, June Crespo’s second solo exhibition at Galería Ehrhardt Flórez, feels like surrendering to that distinction, being struck by the strange allure of forms that seem to have shed their skin and retained only their internal scaffolding. Like an emotional CT scan of matter. You pause, visually listening, between the weight of concrete and the muted pulse of padded materials. One wonders: where does the body end and the machine begin? Or has it all already merged, fused, become interchangeable?

This exhibition doesn’t narrate, it pulses. Through stark white rooms, soberly lit with surgical precision, unfold sculptures that resemble fossilized wreckage from a future era. Visitors drift like in a deserted garden: no fixed route, just a gravitational pull toward the tension points the works embody. The dancing columns, planted at the center of the space, defy their apparent stillness: they seem to breathe, suspended between a fall that never happens and a levitation never quite achieved. Meanwhile, the large plastic-and-fabric wall works stretch across the gallery like industrial membranes, echoing both enclosure and exposure, like diaphragms of an expanded inner space.

Crespo works with materials that speak both the language of industry and the body: reinforced concrete crumbles like brittle bone; padding folds like tired muscle; ribbed steel and ventilation tubes stand in for veins and cartilage. Her technique is both surgical and sensual. These sculptures aren’t mere assemblages, they are sculptural anatomies: each element a limb, a joint, an artificial organ. The metal joints, the semi-deflated cushions, the crumpled fabric don’t soften the works, they intensify their sense of exposure, of structural vulnerability. Even her palette, dusty greys, off-whites, and alarm-orange, contributes to this visceral ambiguity: everything feels both alive and leftover.

The wall panels, drawn from the series Their weft, the grass, function as a visual and conceptual counterpoint. Perforated, gridded, laced with tubular structures, they suggest secret passages or open wounds in the architecture’s skin. They are part shell, part respiratory system, always on the verge of collapsing or expanding. These pieces don’t separate space but filter it. And it is precisely in this play between fullness and void, between access and resistance, that the poetic force of the exhibition resides.

In the second room, the dancing column (Iris) sculptures stand like light, ritualistic presences. Suspended, bound, fluttering like the wrappings of a modern temple, they bring a more ethereal tone, almost ceremonial, where the balance between gesture and gravity becomes choreography. Every angle offers a new way to inhabit space: verticals become horizons, surfaces fold into unexpected creases, seams bind the organic to the mechanical.

SOLAR doesn’t seek symbols or statements, it is a morphological landscape, a terrain of friction between sculptural language and tangible affect. Crespo has the rare ability to sculpt the inner silence of things, to reveal what usually remains hidden: the emotional scaffolding of material. Leaving the gallery, you carry the sensation of having moved through an organism rather than a space. A quiet, persistent voice follows you out, the voice of forms bending, yielding, rising again. As if sculpture, in the end, could breathe.

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