Textures of the Unstable: Gozo Discusses An Improbable Thread

When I talk about symbolic imagery in cyclical motion, I mean images that return again and again, never the same, always transformed. In that repetition, they dissolve and overlap with present moments; they stop being memories and become symbols, reappearing in certain situations, even if sometimes they disguise themselves as something else.

I’m interested not only in exploring digitally generated images, but also the very nature of the digital medium: its imperfections, its errors, its limited resolutions, and its visual artifacts. All of that becomes part of the “material” I work with.

Can you describe your process of creating - which tools are used, which decisions are made along the way, whether you sketch pieces first?

I don’t usually make sketches when I work with collages, because I want the process to be intuitive, to let myself be carried by it and make decisions in the moment. What does usually linger in my mind are texture and color, but even that isn’t fixed; it can change as the work progresses.

Generally, I start with a general idea or concept. From there, I generate vague prompts related to that base idea; I usually don’t make detailed descriptions beyond texture and color, and I do all of this in a local Stable Diffusion setup.

Once I’ve gathered enough material, I make a selection of images that catch my attention because of their colors, textures, or forms, and I look for relationships between them. That’s when I start composing: editing, redrawing parts, reconfiguring… all in Photoshop.

The final animation I create using a custom workflow in Stable Diffusion, although sometimes I do light pre-animations in After Effects before the final process.

In your process of collaging textures and fragments, how do you know when a piece is “finished” if the image always feels on the verge of dissolving?

In the process of these series, the idea of a “finished” piece is always relative. I work with fragments and instabilities, so I’m not looking for a definitive closure. Rather, the moment to stop comes when the piece reaches a certain balance and rhythm, a temporary state within a broader process, where it’s worth pausing to contemplate, even if unfinished, as it acquires its own meaning.

Some might see echoes of Judy Chicago or Georgia O’Keeffe in the sensual and organic qualities of your forms. Do you feel an affinity with them, or with any other art-historical lineages? Similarly, are there any specific artists who have influenced the development of your specific aesthetic?

I’m definitely fascinated by Georgia O’Keeffe’s treatment of color and form. Surrealist artists have also had a big influence on my work, especially painters like Toye, Dorothea Tanning, and Ithell Colquhoun. And then there are early computer graphics and video games: I’m really drawn to pixel art for its abstraction. Lillian Schwartz’s films, experimental cinema in general… the list goes on.

One artist who had a particular impact on me while developing these latest series is Tàpies. I hadn’t seen much of his work in person until I had the chance to visit a major retrospective last year. The materiality of his work left a deep impression on me, and I could directly relate it to what I was exploring digitally.

Are there non-art influences (literature, cinema, spirituality) that seep into these works?

Music and sound is definitely very important to me. Even though the pieces are silent, I always work while listening to music, and, of course, dance is also essential. About a year ago, I started working with a Butoh group, and it has influenced me a lot: it changed the way I relate to the body, to space, and to others. In fact, my previous series, The Fire In Between, is directly based on these discoveries; in this series, I start from a broader range of subjects as a base.

You’ve said you’re drawn to the moment “when the visible is about to collapse, but still resists.” What does this mean exactly, and why is that threshold compelling to you?

Often, when I think of an image or an idea, I don’t see it completely; it slips away, like something glimpsed out of the corner of my eye. That blurriness interests me because it creates tension: the image is never fully solid or definitive, but it doesn’t disappear entirely either.

I find it very suggestive that an image that resists disappearing reflects, in a way, an effort to show itself, even if it’s changing, incomplete, unstable, or even contradictory. That resistance is also a form of assertion: the image affirms itself in its own precariousness. And in that gesture, I find its symbolic power.

What do you hope someone feels when they first encounter the works?

Quite a few people have told me that when they see my work, they find it beautiful, uncomfortable, or unsettling, without really knowing why. To me, that seems like the perfect way to encounter it; I like art that I can’t decode instantly.

How do you select or develop your colour palettes?

My choice of color palette doesn’t follow a method; it’s always an intuitive process based on the idea I want to develop.

Why do you prefer working within the GIF format, have you ever worked with soundscapes in addition to your visual work?

What I like about the GIF is that it encapsulates time in a very particular way: it doesn’t have a beginning or an end, just a short, cyclical sequence that repeats again and again, insisting on returning.

For me, it also respects my color palettes and the relationships between pixels better. On top of that, it’s a format I’m drawn to because it’s completely self-contained: it doesn’t need a player or any external interface, it works on its own. It’s a small artifact that’s already complete in itself.

So far, I haven’t added sound to my work, though it’s definitely something I’d like to explore, since I’m very interested in the sonic world. I just need to find the right way to do it.

Is there a meaning behind the series title?

In this series, the starting point is lived intrusive images that break into my mind, distorted by time and juxtaposed with other images. For me, an improbable thread is that unexpected connection that arises between images that, at first glance, seem to have no relation. It’s a link that appears by chance, as if the unrelated suddenly found continuity.

In this series, it’s precisely the improbable that interests me: that from the dispersed and chaotic, an intimate and coherent mythology can emerge.

Are any cultural, spiritual, or narrative references embedded within the series?

Of course, though not in a conscious way :-)

There seem to be repeated pods and pendulums in the works, do these point to cycles of birth, death, and rebirth?  

Yes, those forms you mention, though not always, function as cyclical metaphors. I don’t think of them literally, but as representations of the recurrence and transformation of bodies and experiences. They also allude to the way lived and imagined realities coexist: an internal time that is always mutable and in process.

What do you know when you are not making art?

Right now, when I’m not making art, I spend my time raising two kids, dancing, and trying to enjoy whatever comes my way.

Were you always an artist?

No, it’s something I returned to in 2021 after many years working as a graphic designer, developing installations and online experiences, but nothing really personal. Right now, my only focus is art, and I hope it stays that way.

Where would you like your work to go from here?

I’m starting to work with textiles to create physical pieces, some with machine embroidery and others with hand tufting. I find a strong connection between these latest series and the textile work.