Tres is not a poet, nor is he an artist properly speaking. Tres is an activist at the disposal of a revolutionary ideal which doesn’t so much aim at silence itself but to the silencing of so many noises which interfere and madden the traffic of any spiritual life.
It’s important to underline that in the hands of an activist such as Tres, poetry and art are instruments of a much wider action programme which intends to intervene at all levels of a collective existence, albeit with all kinds of strategies, without waiving direct propaganda nor subversion, political action or sabotage.
In Tres’ invocation of silence there is, of course, a utopical plan yet there is also a demand which fits in the social order ranks, which draws some concrete, feasible objectives. For all those participating, Tres’ actions constitute an experience in themselves but also aspire to promote the acquisition of awareness from which new attitudes can grow, thus allowing for a fresh batch of engagement and solidarity.
Always humorous and irreverent, playful yet striving, with a good dose of aesthetics and criticism (which comes from an argumentative penchant and a clear flair for seduction), both cocktails and silent concerts, the public “turn-offs” of noisy spots and lights, the musical and video pieces, the installations and the ceremonies so diverse which Tres has been producing for over a decade, have a common denominator: that of experimenting with alternative ways in which the individual usually relates to himself and others and, by and large to its environment. Ways which, often, are unconsciously stolen from noises capable of distorting and perverting those relationships.
Silence is not in opposition to word nor to language. From Rimbaud to Celan, modern poetry flows along the abyss of silence and only that which dares to look down into the depth, survives. At the other end of the ravine, the silent utopia of Tres does not constitute a mystical predicate nor is a nihilistic proposal. Rather the contrary, it signals the threshold of the true word. Of those words which, according to Elias Canetti, are “melted silence”.