When we talk of ephemeral art we think of works that are produced at a certain time and place, therefore, we tend to identify them with performance or happening. Artistic events are a very interesting facet of the new contemporaneity which thrill artists. One wants to overcome the traditional vision of static art, embodied in tangible support, to transform it into an experience. Installation art responds to this same idea. It is more like a fixed sculpture, but it usually incorporates elements that add movement, image or sound to the piece, in addition to being designed to last a certain time. With these ingredients, installations make their way into the rooms of museums, galleries, cultural centres and even the urban space, where it is easier to access because its occupation is only temporary.

Dan Flavin, light installation “Supernatural Breakdancer”, Menil Collection, 1996

Installation art is a manifestation that began in the 50´s of the last century, although in recent decades it has gained unsuspected attention thanks to some gigantic interventions by world-known artists. Its purpose is linked to the goals of conceptual art, the paradigm of contemporary expression since its beginnings. For this reason, installations are usually designed for a specific space, they are made for a particular place so that the discourse they convey is understood. For this reason, too, they are difficult to move and reproduce, as they will always require adjustment to the new placement.

Anish Kapoor, “Shooting into the Corner II”, 2008-2009 © Photo: Dave Morgan

On the other hand, the installation, like other manifestations of ephemeral art, seeks interaction with the viewer. Thus, as we said, it is not a question of creating an expanded sculptural piece that occupies the exhibition surface, but of creating a peculiar work, thought to motivate dialogue, in which outside-the-art-world elements or contributions from other disciplines are often incorporated, such as video, sound, technology... The aim is to delve into that message to be transmitted.

Eugenio Ampudia, “Sostener el infinito en la palma de la mano”, Sala Alcalá 31, 2019

The definition seems broad, however, any contact with an installation makes us easily appreciate the difference with sculpture. The latter is thought from a more classical conception of a static and enduring object, no matter how novel the topic and aesthetics are. The installation is precisely the opposite: it seeks the momentary, the impact of the discourse based on the arrangement of tangible elements and conceptual connections that will later disappear. In this sense, it is linked to experimental art, a context in which many art movements were born that incorporate movement and concept in their essence.

Olafur Eliasson placed this installation made from Greenland icebergs pieces in different locations of London to raise awareness on global warming

The versatility of installation art is practically infinite. The current means allow these works to be given a previously unknown dimension, either by integrating aspects related to technique and programming that blur the edges between installation or technological art or by the use of materials that allow working on a different scale. Likewise, installation of the new millennium may seek a bigger impact than a discourse purpose, or, on the opposite, serve to channel many of the concerns that we have today as a society, something that is characteristic of contemporary art in its many manifestations.

Kaws, installation into Hong Kong harbour, Photo: PH Yang

What is clear is that the installation, and especially the oversized one, is trendy in today’s contemporary creation world. Some well-known artists trust in this discipline when they design their exhibitions, and for this, they seek the complicity of the great museums and exhibition rooms, or of the cities themselves. It is the best method to spread their message, and to achieve the intended impact, many times one has to attract the public's attention going big.

The practice of the collective DIMASLA (Diana + Álvaro) is situated at a fertile intersection between contemporary art, ecological thinking, and a philosophy of experience that shifts the emphasis from production to attention. Faced with the visual and material acceleration of the present, their work does not propose a head-on opposition, but rather a sensitive reconciliation with time, understood as lived duration rather than as a measure. The work thus emerges as an exercise in slowing down, a pedagogy of perception where contemplating and listening become modes of knowledge.

In the work of DIMASLA (Diana + Álvaro), the territory does not function as a framework but rather as an agent. The landscape actively participates in the process, establishing a dialogical relationship reminiscent of certain eco-critical currents, in which subjectivity is decentralized and recognized as part of a broader framework. This openness implies an ethic of exposure, which is defined as the act of exposing oneself to the climate, the elements, and the unpredictable, and this means accepting vulnerability as an epistemological condition.

The materials—fabrics, pigments, and footprints—serve as surfaces for temporary inscriptions and memories, bearing the marks of time. The initial planning is conceived as an open hypothesis, allowing chance and error to act as productive forces. In this way, the artistic practice of DIMASLA (Diana + Álvaro) articulates a poetics of care and being-with, where creating is, above all, a profound way of feeling and understanding nature.

In a historical moment marked by speed and the overproduction of images, your work seems to champion slowness and listening as forms of resistance. Could it be said that your practice proposes a way of relearning time through aesthetic experience?

Diana: Yes, but more than resistance or vindication, I would speak of reconciliation—of love. It may appear slow, but it is deliberation; it is reflection. Filling time with contemplation or listening is a way of feeling. Aesthetic experience leads us along a path of reflection on what lies outside us and what lies within.

The territory does not appear in your work as a backdrop or a setting, but as an interlocutor. How do you negotiate that conversation between the artist’s will and the voice of the place, when the landscape itself participates in the creative process?

Álvaro: For us, the landscape is like a life partner or a close friend, and naturally this intimate relationship extends into our practice. We go to visit it, to be with it, to co-create together. We engage in a dialogue that goes beyond aesthetics—conversations filled with action, contemplation, understanding, and respect.

Ultimately, in a way, the landscape expresses itself through the material. We respect all the questions it poses, while at the same time valuing what unsettles us, what shapes us, and what stimulates us within this relationship.

The Conquest of the Rabbits I & II. 2021. Process.

In your approach, one senses an ethic of exposure: exposing oneself to the environment, to the weather, to others, to the unpredictable. To what extent is this vulnerability also a form of knowledge?

Diana: For us, this vulnerability teaches us a great deal—above all, humility. When we are out there and feel the cold, the rain, or the sun, we become aware of how small and insignificant we are in comparison to the grandeur and power of nature.

So yes, we understand vulnerability as a profound source of knowledge—one that helps us, among many other things, to let go of our ego and to understand that we are only a small part of a far more complex web.

Sometimes mountains cry too. 2021. Limestone rockfall, sun, rain, wind, pine resin on acrylic on natural cotton canvas, exposed on a blanket of esparto grass and limestone for two months.. 195 cm x 130 cm x 3 cm.

Your works often emerge from prolonged processes of exposure to the environment. Could it be said that the material—the fabrics, the pigments, the traces of the environment—acts as a memory that time writes on you as much as you write on it?

Álvaro: This is a topic for a long conversation, sitting on a rock—it would be very stimulating. But if experiences shape people’s inner lives and define who we are in the present moment, then I would say yes, especially in that sense.

Leaving our comfort zone has led us to learn from the perseverance of plants and the geological calm of mountains. Through this process, we have reconciled ourselves with time, with the environment, with nature, with ourselves, and even with our own practice. Just as fabrics hold the memory of a place, we have relearned how to pay attention and how to understand. Ultimately, it is a way of deepening our capacity to feel.

The fox and his tricks. 2022. Detail.

To what extent do you plan your work, and how much space do you leave for the unexpected—or even for mistakes?

Diana: Our planning is limited to an initial hypothesis. We choose the materials, colours, places, and sometimes even the specific location, but we leave as much room as possible for the unexpected to occur. In the end, that is what it is really about: allowing nature to speak and life to unfold. For us, both the unexpected and mistakes are part of the world’s complexity, and within that complexity we find a form of natural beauty.