Description
Some artworks seem to arrive carrying a season with them.
This stag by Pili Iglesias brings an imagined autumn: leaves stitched one by one, fabric scraps that recall old coats and worn textiles, and a deep red backdrop that could belong to an antique loom or the glow of a fireplace in a countryside home.
Pili’s way of working blends intuition with memory. Every scrap of fabric once lived another life—an inherited garment, a frayed piece of upholstery, a cloth someone kept without knowing why. She listens to them and assembles them slowly, as if each carried its own rhythm, its own temperature.
Here, the stag stands calm and steady. The antlers are layered in a way that mimics carved wood; the leaves feel almost alive, shifting slightly when you stare at them too long. There is no rush in this figure. No nostalgia either. Just that quiet reminder that nature can grow from thread as well as from soil.
On the wall, the piece becomes a gentle refuge—a small forest paused in time, built from fabrics that probably never imagined meeting again.
And it’s hard not to wonder what story was just beginning when these materials first touched.
This post is also available in: Spanish
