Eduardo Ponjuán proposes a strange galaxy, whose center is a Sputnik lamp with 24 lit bulbs. In this unreal world, the objects and the synesthesia they project, provoke, intermingle to build landscapes of love and despair, of sadness and loneliness, of oblivion and desire. His eagerness is the deviation of the gaze by a manipulation, not of their form that persists indelible, but of their function: old records, full of love songs, are piled one on top of the other like columns of uneasiness, and in their crown, little birds reinvent a kind of fountain [Cuando vuelvas a quererme, Sí o no?an irregular block of aluminum foil extends its lower part to the base of a dining table, the same one that holds a thick glass, perhaps lake and mirror [Iceberg]; a forest of odoriferous pines, arranged on two Isamu Noguchi-style tables, recreates a Lilliputian nature, apparently crossed by a river or an abyss? [Black Ice].