As a child I was lucky enough to have lots of toys. A suitcase I packed for a trip rarely contained clothes. All I deemed necessary for time spent away from home was a thoughtful selection of my toys. I rarely paid attention to the original context of a toy. Taking on the new roles and meanings that I bestowed upon them so dictatorially, every plaything underwent a metamorphosis on entering my universe. But my overzealousness could sometimes hit a stumbling block. I often thought things that weren't toys, were. This paradox of what is a toy, is something which continues to puzzle me, especially when considering the toys of Joauquín Torres García.
While I was growing up my father had a few, but I was never allowed to play with them. My parents thought they were too precious for my insensitive hands and too sacred for my megalomaniacal brain to appropriate. But In fact all of my toys were sacred objects to me, but none carried this importance into the real world. But this situation was the opposite; Torres Garcia's toys seemed to be sacred only outside of my world. My father kept the toys out of my reach, surely not what Torres Garcia had in mind for his toys. But this had an interesting effect on me. If as a child I had been allowed to play with these toys they wouldn't have maintained the mysterious aura they still hold for me. In April, 2010, I traveled to Uruguay for an exhibition carrying a suitcase filled with nothing but the toys of Torres Garcia, but they were constructed of pieces of my former toys, the toys which never achieved the status they deserved outside of my world. My cheap massed produced toys became those sacred objects that were always out of my reach.