Description
Some places never leave you. Even when they’ve been shut for years, you still remember the creak of the wooden counter, the exact tilt of the light, the way they handed you things without asking what you needed.
“The Pantry”, by textile artist Pili Iglesias, isn’t a replica of an old neighborhood shop. It’s a stitched memory of one. Shelves filled with bottles, dented tins, and cheese rounds that look like they’ve been wrapped with a quiet kind of care. A clock that doesn’t tick anymore. A red scale that probably weighed more stories than food. And a little checkered table, as if someone had just stepped away for a minute.
Nothing here is exact — and that’s the beauty of it. Each shape, each color, each stitch is made from reclaimed fabric, which means every detail comes with a life already lived. The objects don’t shine. They glow. Like something that was once touched often and is now remembered gently.
Is it a scene? A memory? A goodbye? There’s something in it that warms you… and stirs something else too. Like when you find an old photo and don’t know whether to smile or sigh.
A piece for those who notice. For those who believe that places, too, might miss us a little.
This post is also available in: Spanish