From lucidity to the subconscious. That thin line between reality and the imaginary. The fragility of life. And a deep fascination with pause.

A firm believer in chance and experimentation, the Guadalajara-based artist seamlessly blends environment and instinct in his work. Whether exploring the idea of freedom or the dream state, Lebrija invites us to reflect on creativity and rest—as part of the broader existential inquiries that shape his artistic vision.

“Art, for me, is connected to inner concerns and how each person relates to the world,” says Lebrija, setting the tone for a conversation about the questions that have become a creative engine in his practice, the role of instinct, and the way experimentation drives the unexpected turns in his ever-evolving career.

How has Mexico and its culture influenced your work?
I’ve created most of my work in Mexico, especially in Guadalajara and Mexico City. While the environment definitely influences my practice, I like to think it’s shaped by something beyond geography. I believe art functions like a sponge—it absorbs everything around it, so our living conditions matter greatly.

In Guadalajara, the proximity and abundance of specialized workshops—woodworking, metalwork, ceramics—make production much easier. Time stretches here, allowing me to move freely and make the most of every space to create.

Chance seems to play an important role in your process.
My approach is instinctive. I let accidents and intuition guide me. Instead of chasing a specific form, I aim to reframe and decontextualize what I encounter. I’m always alert to unexpected situations I can develop into something new. Becoming an artist wasn’t a calculated choice—it was a response to my own aesthetic questions and inner impulses.

Your work often explores the passage of time and the fleeting nature of life. Where does this perspective come from?
I never set out to explore time—it revealed itself to me through my work. Interests often emerge from the subconscious. Each piece adds a chapter to a larger story. In this sense, I’ve come to express a very human desire: to stop time. Like the act of flying, it’s physically impossible but metaphysically achievable through art and imagination. These fictional gestures raise questions about how we live, how we experience time, and what we believe to be real.

In Brief History of Time, you play with the illusion of speed. What message are you trying to convey through this kind of imagery?
In Brief History of Time, one of my most recognized works, I filmed a car being dropped into a lake in 2008 using a high-speed camera to capture the moment just before it hit the water. It was about suspending time—a metaphor for the sense of freedom cars represented for my generation. They were escape machines. You’d get in and drive away.

The American cars of the ’60s and ’70s, with their oversized engines and outdated designs, symbolized a romantic notion of independence and the American Dream. Back then, there was no internet, no cell phones. By flipping a car upside down at the edge of a lake, I marked the end of that era. The work remains open to multiple interpretations, and it’s that ambiguity that makes it meaningful to me—it invites questions rather than offering answers.

Your career has long explored the idea of pause in the face of life’s transience. How has your view of time and suspension evolved from your early work to more recent projects?
Rather than thinking in terms of evolution, I consider what each piece contributes. It’s about dialogue and reinterpretation. I work intuitively, allowing things to fall into place naturally. Inspiration comes when you’re constantly searching—not only in the studio, but also while listening to music, reading, or simply contemplating. Sometimes it’s just watching a cloud or the smoke from a cigar. I’m not focused on how time passes—I’m interested in understanding it in a more mystical way.

What role has chance or pivotal decision-making played in shaping your career?
Some works have had more success than others and created a kind of domino effect—one leading to the next. I currently have a few projects in pre-production, but I’m also open to new opportunities, especially public art. With public works, it’s important to understand the rules and how to create something the community can embrace. These pieces must reflect the ideas and emotions of those who interact with them every day.

You’ve said that knowledge is vital to creativity. Have any places or travel experiences significantly impacted your work?
Absolutely. Travel is essential to my life. I’m a nomad, always on the move—it keeps me refreshed and energized, like water that needs to flow. Travel allows me to disconnect from my environment and access my inner world. I often seek solitude to find answers. That constant motion inevitably shapes my work.

In your Dormir series, sleep—the most vulnerable human state—is exposed to the viewer.
Sleep has always been important to me. I believe dreams generate and resolve ideas for projects. I’ve defended sleep as essential to creativity, connecting it to dreams and the drift between wakefulness and rest. For me, thinking from bed is incredibly productive—it lets the mind wander freely. My mom used to call me cynical for saying that (laughs), but it’s proven effective in my process. I enjoy pushing the boundary between artist and viewer. In my photo series Distance Between, I run toward the horizon, drawing the viewer into the landscape and emphasizing the vulnerability of the artist.

What impact has dream exploration had on your artistic vision?
I wouldn’t say all my work comes from dreams—though some do. My projects usually emerge from existential questions about life. The dream state helps me filter those ideas and find simple answers. Some of those answers turn into pieces that feel very aligned with the moment I’m living.

The cover of F-1Trillion, Post Malone’s new album, is inspired by your work As Time Goes By. How did that collaboration come about?
That project began after I created a sculpture for a hotel entrance in Las Vegas. Post Malone saw the piece during a concert and reached out. At first, we planned a sculpture for the cover of his new country album, but due to time constraints, I proposed using my technique of launching a truck into a lake and filming it with a Phantom camera at high speed.

I set it up in one week—launching a truck into a lake near Guadalajara. The resulting image became the album cover and was featured on a billboard in Nashville—just the photo, with no text. I found it flattering that the image could become part of the album’s identity on its own, without the need for titles or credits.

What are you working on now?
I’m currently working on a permanent sculpture for Plaza del Carmen in Madrid. It’s set to be installed at the end of October. Titled El rumor de la discordia (The Rumor of Discord), it depicts a full-size English thoroughbred horse supported by a single hand atop a bare concrete base. The black-patinated sculpture challenges traditional equestrian monuments that typically glorify victory or commemorate military leaders. This piece reflects uncertainty—our community’s uncertain future—and invites a dialogue about the changes we need to pursue.

Cover Photo: History of Suspended Time, 2020. 1975 Dodge Chrysler Valiant Duster, reflecting pool.

Interview by: Isabel Flores
Photos: Courtesy of the artist