What distinguishes what I do from what an anonymous pre-Hispanic craftsman did, some centuries ago, in the tropical region of México? The physical fact, two hands touching a lump of clay, is the same. The difference lies in what ideas the hands touch upon as they move and across what contextual field they traverse. He, a conduct of the divine, providing body for the sacred to be born into this material world. Me, a cultural practitioner labelling my actions as contemporary art and in doing so choosing particular institutions and sectors of society as my interlocutors. The distance between one and the other is not fixed; rather, it exists in perpetual flux and tension. Language, propelled by imagination, crosses the abyss as lightning, travels through time and space. I become a sacred instrument, a tool of unseen forces; I release control so that the unconscious might come out to play. Social mandates, impossible demands and taboos acquire shape, reveal their incongruity. The personal becomes political, ego as a product of society. Past inhabits the present each time it is recalled, it is once more created inside our minds. The body is my transport into the past, the experience of inhabiting it connects me with any human who came before me. Art as an evidence of this experience, a million ways to externalize the unanswerable questions inhabiting us.