Myra Boussinet (Barcelona, 1971) is a Spanish visual artist based in Amsterdam. She holds a Fine Arts degree from the University of Barcelona and works full-time in her studio following an extensive career in art education. Her practice focuses on what sustains form without becoming visible. Structures are approached not as fixed elements, but as latent conditions—only perceptible when they fail, when tension gives way and stability turns into collapse. Within this framework, loss is not treated as narrative but as a structural condition. It introduces a point of no return, where transformation becomes irreversible. Through processes of pressure, friction, and suspension, materials are subjected to forces that bind, compress, or destabilize them, revealing the fragile interdependence that holds them together.

I work with sculptural assemblage using raw wool, reclaimed fibers—such as burlap (jute) and linen—, salvaged wood, and found objects. My work explores tension, fragility, and instability through simple structural frameworks, often sustained by forces that remain unseen.

Through processes of pressure, friction, and structural tension, materials become interdependent and undergo irreversible transformation. Forms remain unstable, exposed, or unfinished. Gravity operates as both force and condition, with vertical and horizontal axes acting as minimal frameworks for suspension and collapse.

Rather than constructing form, the work tests what sustains it. Slight displacements, missing tensions, or minimal shifts are enough to unsettle what appears stable. What holds is rarely visible—only its failure becomes perceptible. The body is not outside these conditions. It follows the same logic of support, tension, and collapse.

Alongside assemblage, my practice extends into ephemeral interventions on location and its photography documentation. Through minimal gestures—often a single horizontal mark—I respond to latent structures within abandoned architectures, revealing tensions already embedded in the space.

Two lines of investigation run through this work: raw wool as a living material, and the cruciform as a structural condition.

Working with wool in its most elemental state—unprocessed, irregular, carrying traces of the animal—I explore its proximity to the body as a site of warmth, protection, and vulnerability. When compressed, the fiber acquires density, behaving almost like a skin: protective, yet exposed. In dialogue with burlap and rigid structures, wool is held, restrained, or suspended, revealing tensions between softness and construction.

In parallel, the project Entrar por la herida approaches the cross not as a fixed symbol but as a form that emerges when matter or architecture is exposed, fractured, or destabilized. The cruciform appears through assemblage, material weight, or minimal interventions on locatioon that reveal latent structures already embedded in space, operating as a diagram of tension, burden, and vulnerability—more scar than symbol.

You think it will never happen to you, that it cannot happen to you, that you are the only person in the world to whom none of these things will ever happen, and then, one by one, they all begin to happen to you, in the same way they happen to everyone else.

—Paul Auster