Some works do not reveal themselves immediately. Not because they conceal something, but because they require time, attention, and presence. I Put the Sun on My Shoulder and the World Turns Yellow unfolds in this way—not as a closed image or a linear narrative, but as a space activated through the body.

Seven monumental curtains suspended at the center of the gallery form a porous, traversable environment. As visitors move among them, images overlap, interrupt, and reappear. There is no single vantage point from which the work can be fully grasped. Seeing requires movement, pause, and choice.

Across the curtains, two chromatic fields emerge. In one, dominated by yellow, figures rest, suspended in a moment of stillness. On the reverse, painted in blue, figures walk away from the viewer toward a horizon that remains out of reach. There is no beginning and no end. What unfolds instead is a condition: continuous movement interrupted by pause.

Migration appears here not as a specific route, but as a recurring bodily experience—walking, stopping, continuing. Rest does not signal arrival, but a threshold: a necessary moment before carrying the weight again and moving forward.

A subtle sonic layer moves through the space, reinforcing this temporal experience. Barely perceptible, the sound stretches time and supports the slowness the installation demands. It is a deconstruction of No soy de aquí, ni soy de allá by Facundo Cabral. Sound does not illustrate the work; it inhabits it, operating at the edge of perception.

The title of the installation comes from a fragment of the monologue Cabral would recite before performing the song: I put the sun on my shoulder and the world turns yellow. The phrase does not describe a changing world, but a way of inhabiting it. To carry the sun is to carry experience—its weight, its memory—without relinquishing movement.

Made from everyday materials—fabric, raw canvas, and wall paint—the installation maintains an intimate register. I Put the Sun on My Shoulder and the World Turns Yellow invites visitors to cross and re-cross the space, to slow down, to pause, and to look again. Meaning does not announce itself; it emerges through presence.

- Excerpt from Curatorial Essay

Sophie Bonet
Chief Curator, The Frank Gallery