JAGO, the self-taught sculptor who wanted to be Michelangelo

My name is Iago, I'm 30 years old and I'm a Chocharo. Imagine if Michelangelo had been able to put on Facebook the video in timelapse of the realization of David. I mean, please, I want to see it. I fell in love with the greats of tradition because I was amazed by the fact that normal men, like me with a brain of two eyes, but above all two hands, could do such incredible things on their own. And I said, but I want to do them too. Me too. If I hadn't told myself as a child that I wanted to be stronger than Michelangelo, better, bigger than him, I would never have been excited, I would never have started sculpting. Because seeing a person who knows how to sculpt, a person who knows how to draw, a person who knows how to put something into the world, like a son, this gives courage. And that's what people need, courage. I work in a way that is completely invented. I mean, I work with a cutter, with the other one with the vacuum cleaner attached and I vacuum in real time. I don't know how many crazy people do something like that. I use a Dremel, which is the one you buy at Bricocenter. I didn't finish high school. I don't have a piece of paper, so I don't have a degree. And yes, I feel self-taught, because if I had followed the advice of the teacher in the academy, who didn't want me to show up at the Biennale, because he had to decide if I was able, even if he was shy, to invite me, I would have been stuck in there doing this with my head. He's a kid who wants to play with us. You don't want to be stuck in a corner listening to you talking about the book you read the night before. He never showed anything of what he was doing. You know, he said, no, because I don't want to influence you. But who influences? Show me, teach me. Yes, then I left the academy right after, let's say. I use social media to share that making-of, the behind-the-scenes. Because the behind-the-scenes is sometimes much more interesting than the work itself. We'll have the real effect when I turn off the light. The Vatican didn't accept it, because I had blinded my eyes. They asked me, can you fill them in? You know, because the Pope has an image, we don't want to give an image that's even unspeakable. And I said no. I was sure the Pope didn't like the work, because I was told, no, the Pope didn't like it. In reality, he had never even seen that work. When we disorganized the exhibition, I pulled the Pope out of the wall. My father calls me, he sends me a message and says, today the Pope has resigned. And then, as the Pope had undressed, I decided to undress him. I filled in those eyes that had limited me at the beginning, giving him the view. As if the eyes were moving. How you move, you follow them, they follow you with their gaze. But it's true, it's fake, it's resin, it's printed. Everyone tells me these things. Because they can't conceive that a rock can be bent in that way. Because they know reality in that way. To amaze people. Art is a great opportunity to give courage to people.