Buenos Aires, 2004.

His work was filled with a delicate drama.

He was already using new elements to produce: colored threads that he could sew effortlessly, small cloths worn out by its use, tiny cushions on which he rested his bones. Written phrases that he would attach in his heart and helped him to contain his fear. “Death is an intermittent part of my days,” taken from a poem by Alina Tortosa, repeated as a mantra. “Love is the perfume of the flower.” He was moved by Liliana Maresca’s simple phrase.

He embroidered them over and over again, “I just became aware that I live projected into the future”, the phrase of his friend Ariel commands it…

“I want to live up to my work. Embroider what I think, what I feel.” he kept repeating.

In search of that truth, his production moved away from the joyful ease of its beginnings and became lucid, raw, tender.

Feliciano Centurión’s work was a constant declaration of desperate love.