“When you don’t have anything, all that’s left is trust.” Being and creating in the world has a lot to do with having faith and, as textile artist Luis Renteria (México, 1991) notes, “when you have trust, you have everything. ”Un puñal en un pañuelo” [A Dagger in a Handkerchief] interweaves ideas of magic, protection, and the freedom that derives from knowledge of the self and of our co-existence in the world. When a dagger is seamlessly placed in a handkerchief, we are reminded that there is always potential danger looming, but that there is also an element of security, an invisible armour.

How can art provide a shield against faithlessness and precarity? What tools enable life to be lived and ensure we can do so with dignity? How does art contribute to justice in a world lacking equality and in one where the law no longer seems a respected framework? These are some of the pressing questions that enliven the woven works that comprise this solo exhibition.

For the artist, every thread matters, no fold is incidental. Mapped out with pencil drawings on blue-square graph paper, his textiles weave elements of fiction and pre-Hispanic heritage with a contemporary art practice forged both in Mexico and Spain. Rather than merely referencing the global history of textile-making, which he describes as “traces of intelligence,” Renteria’s work gestures toward the enduring wounds of imperialism, the subsequent divides created between body, mind, and spirit, and the alienation between people and environment. Thus, the danger pointed out by the dagger resides in the present but is also understood as a threat and trauma embedded in the past.

Through his practice, Renteria crafts a space for dialogue and reflection rooted in the lived realities of the Global South, inviting a shift in how we understand and perceive historical and contemporary knowledge production, materiality, and aesthetics.

The artist’s methodology is meticulously rooted in research, reading, and writing. He posits that magic—something we cannot fully grasp but rather feel—is one way to preserve resilience. Favouring the definition of writer Octavio Paz Lozano (1914–1998), who wrote that “the specificity of magic consists in conceiving the universe as a whole in which the parts are united by a current of secret sympathy,” and drawing on his own lived experience, Renteria sees magic, or “the invisible half,” as a strategy for overcoming domestic hardship and addressing issues like inadequate social welfare and healthcare. In this sense, magic becomes a silent force, or “secret sympathy,” that renders life more bearable. For instance, a previous piece, Hechizo atrapado (2023), contains candles and small pieces of paper that are woven between colourful threads illustrate the inheritance of his grandmother’s ritual, calling on the written word and light to attract good fortune:

“Mi abuela escribía un deseo en un trozo de papel, lo envolvía alrededor de una vela y luego lo ataba con un hilo. Me cautivó esa forma de trabajar los materiales: tres objetos que dejan de ocupar el espacio para el que fueron hechos y pasan a habitar un espacio simbólico. En ese plano, la vela no está encendida y aún así funciona.” **

This act of wishful thinking, which is akin to meditation or prayer, is, for the artist, not only a symbol of protection, but also an exercise that redesigns new functions for everyday objects. The exhibition’s title reframes the dagger as a signifier not of danger, but of safety; not fear, but courage. This symbolic duality lies in the stark juxtaposition between soft, warm textile and hard, cold metal.

The metaphor functions on multiple levels. On the one hand, the artist says that in the centre of Guadalajara there are gay men who sell tamales and are sometimes referred to as puñal in a derogatory fashion. The patriarchy and binary modes of thought dictate that they are subjected to violence daily, making it necessary to carry weapons to stay safe amid systemic discrimination. Among the tablecloths, serviettes, and the pots that keep the tamales warm, we imagine there is a sharp-edged knife ready to defend its owner.

On the other hand, Renteria also calls on the memory of his paternal grandmother, who would carry a knife in her apron to kill chickens — an expression of strength as she provided for her family singlehandedly. Both stories speak of justice born from necessity, and of taking power into one’s own hands in contexts where basic human rights are absent and governmental neglect leaves people without safety or sustenance.

The idea of protection and justice is present in works like Armadura I, II, and III (2025), where Renteria creates a triptych he describes as a shield. Similarly, Amuleto I and II (2025) serve as talismans that, like magic, accompany us. However, with Casa (2025), soft Mexican cotton fibre takes on a sculptural form combined with feathers, horsehair, rabbit hair, paper, pearls, and wood. The artist also uses cochineal — a vivid red dye from insects that once symbolised the wealth of the Spanish Empire and now stands as a stark reminder of colonial extractivism. The architectural form of the piece evokes the idea of a home without a base, an image that hints toward the instability sometimes felt by immigrants.

For Renteria, memory, myths, histories, and personal anecdotes become material. Woven into his tapestries, these narratives are told through unexpected elements like glass and metal and are infused with the cultural and social conditions of their making. His textiles become tangible records of a more expansive, interwoven relationship between people, objects, and ecosystems, a planetary fabric stretched over between ancestral memory and the possibilities of what is yet to come and yet to be imagined.

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