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Pantaleón Ruiz Martínez was born in to a family of weavers. His relatives taught him the art of weaving and he later developed his own designs. But this was not enough for him.
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s a child, I would watch my parents dye skeins for their weaving. The chiaroscuro, like day and night. The endless stories Grandpa would tell, walking through the fields under the sun, or at times barefoot in the rain, I would listen to the sounds of the mountains.

The animals’ silhouettes, the multi-colored birds’ beating wings, rivers overflowing in thousand-pathed liquids, seeds to be removed, clusters of fruit about to ripen.

With my hands on my face, restless, I remember and see, in the wink of an eye, that I am the result of a voyage across time and space. I tell my experiences in my colors and textures ladened with my life.

Pantaleon Ruiz