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'The work Aitor Ortiz executes with architecture as his base is a sort of alchemic transformation. Buildings are his starting point, structures that in previous work were duplicated, repeated themselves, squared up in opposition to themselves, creating non-existent places. With the sleigh of hand of transposing a building or an architectural structure to an unforeseen place, or of taking the areas of a building the very purpose of whose construction is to carry us, lead us, guide us to another place - passages, stairways, doors -, to transform them into a labyrinth, Ortiz came close to a kind of post-surrealism, post-futurism. Phantasmagoric, but real, buildings set out of their context, were the subjects of mysteriously beautiful images. His work as a photographer of architecture equipped him with the skills for approaching concrete, for having an awareness of the places to be found ... in buildings and discovering their most unforeseen expressions.

The most well-known pictures from the previous stage of his career take us to imaginary worlds constructed with elements, fragments of reality, like a post-industrial Piranesi. For contemporary images, they have a certain air of romantic classicism. The silence of those grey landscapes, of those uninhabited infinities, talk to us of dreams and nightmares, of a creation of places with neither boundaries nor coordinates one can pin down. The artist was situated in a non-place, an intermediate space between memory, reality and imagination. What resulted were these images, recognisable and at times impossible to define, to locate, to retain. Exact structures, mathematically perfect, symmetrical, ordered, with a minimalist touch in a systematic repetition of modules, constructions great in their magnificence, at times reminiscent of science- fiction landscapes.

The pictures he offers us now are conceived in another way, from another perspective. We could begin by saying that these are creations approached from a later perspective, one that is more subjective than the previous phase of his work and, at the same time, more modern in terms of creative concept. In the series in hand, space appears in a very different way than it did in other previous picture. On this occasion there is nothing excessive, there is no grandeur, nor, even, is there that setting of a created reality. Now the walls, the columns, the space, appear to be pierced, wounded by a gaze that creates unease. The essential difference is that this time someone moving about within them, investing them with life. Now they are not hieratical, majestic or symbolic spaces, they have ceased to be lovely pictures for a gallery.'