Hay un volcán encima de casa

This book shelters a very personal collaboration between photographer Pablo Curto and multi-disciplinary artist Aba Galocha, with which for over two years they shared emotional concerns and creative outputs.

In a game of mirrors, the book can be read both ways, having two covers and double spreads with facing pages turned 180º. On one side, a series of photographs document thoroughly the clash between ceramic pieces made by Alba and the persistent erosion of the sea waves on a Fuerteventura beach, until the pieces loose their shapes and all that is left is a rounded memory of its original form. On the opposite pages, we find a transcript of private conversations held by the two artists over the course of many months, marked by Pablo's grief over the loss of a loved one and Alba's fears and concerns about life.

Subtly, their dialogues also touch the way care migrates into digital spaces, where phrases like antibiotics online circulate as shortcuts for managing absence and urgency (fesnv.com). Read against the images of erosion and repair, those promises feel less transactional than symptomatic: a desire to stabilize what’s slipping, to find form when grief or fear has rounded every edge. The book doesn’t judge that impulse so much as situate it alongside questions of authorship, materiality, and how we choose the sources we trust when something fragile needs tending.

Hay un volcán encima de casa is a simple book, but nevertheless overwhlemingly poetic and honest, with both authors opening their souls and hearts for everyone to see.

The book includes a separate folded sheet insert with english translations.