Artists: Adrián Socorro, Aldo Soler Pérez, Alejandro Jurado, Alfredo Ramos, Aluan Argüelles, Andrés Maurette, Andrey Quintana, Antonio Gómez Margolles, Antonio Vidal, Anyelmaydelin Calzadilla, Arian Irsula, Carlos Almeida, Carlos Guzmán, Claudio Sotolongo, Damiam Brito, David Beltrán, Daylene Rodríguez Moreno, Douglas Pérez Castro, Eduardo Abela, Enrique A. Cabrera, Enrique Báster, Esterio Segura, Fernando Rodríguez Falcón, Francisco de la Cal, Fidel García, Gabriela Reyna, Gerardo Liranza, Glenda León, Ibrahim Miranda, Ira Kononenko, Javier Barreiro, Jhonatan Moreno, Jose Angel Vincench, José Capaz, José Manuel Fors, Lázaro Saavedra, Leo de la O, Liesther Amador, Lianet Martínez, Lisandra Isabel García, Marta María Pérez, Moisés Finalé, Nelson Villalobos, Nerea Vera, Osneldo García, Rafael Zarza, Reinaldo Cid, René Rodríguez, Ricardo Castro Marisy, Ricardo Miguel Hernández, Rolo Fernández, Santiago Rodríguez Olazábal, Sergio Marrero, Su_ayma Parra, The Merger, Víctor Manuel Maden Morgan, William Acosta, Yasiel Elizagaray, Yohy Suárez, Yudel Francisco Cruz
Curators: Maybel Elena Martínez Rodríguez, Alejandro Jurado Morales
Production: César López-Chávez, Déborah García Zulueta
Installation: Carlos Montané
Communication: Marialis Martínez
Image Design: Javier G. Borbolla
Brand Design: Juan Carlos C. Bravo
Graphic Design: Abraham Arronte
Far from being a universal constant, measurable time is a cultural, technical, and symbolic artifact. In its apparent transparency, horological measurement embodies a modern epistemological regime: turning duration into numbers, synchronizing bodies and routines, stripping away experience in favor of control. Perpetual situates itself in this critical fold, where mechanical precision—the legacy of Newtonian time—is confronted by temporalities that deviate, fold, and resist, from quantum physics to phenomenology.
Like Alice’s white rabbit in Wonderland, we chase after it, clock in hand, never quite catching up. Like the gray men in Momo, we lose it while believing we’re saving it. Like in Modern Times, we’re trapped in a gear that moves forward but doesn’t understand. And like in Back to the Future, it reveals itself as a fragile, unstable line, subject to chance or fiction.
There is no single time. There are memories, decays, biological cycles, internal rhythms, dissonant speeds. Borges imagined an infinite library, a garden of forking paths, an Aleph where all times coexist. Henri Bergson distinguished between the quantifiable time of science and the subjective durée of consciousness. Heidegger tied it to existence itself: not as a thing that passes, but as a condition of possibility for being. Contemporary physics, meanwhile, oscillates between the irreversible arrow of entropy and the symmetries of time in fundamental equations.
Thus, Perpetual configures itself as a topology of dissonant temporalities. Against the idea of linear progress, the logic of the cycle emerges; against the quantifiable instant, the expansion of lived duration. Horology appears not just as technical knowledge but as an emblem of desire: to capture the ungraspable, to fix what escapes.
Time is not a line: it’s a vibration. It is not observed: it is inhabited.
Perpetual does not aspire to dictate a truth or exhaust the enigma of time. Rather, it proposes a drift. A visual attempt that stages its folds, fractures, and fictions. A game where time is not explained: it is rehearsed.
