Second hand toys, restored by hand with scraps of wood.
We adults forget to play. And when we want to go back to the toy, they're either in the garbage or smashed. Repairing the lost toy is more than that. It is giving us back the need to play.
The autobiographical aspect is, in this work, more present than ever. Norton Maza was still a child when his family moved to Cuba to live. In the absence of toys, he made his own objects out of found wood, assembled in a clumsy but sufficient manner. Decades later, and with the expertise of a professional carpenter, Maza took up that survival manual to rebuild damaged toys, replacing lost wheels, broken Transformer arms or broken airplane wings.
But it also speaks of the fragmented dreams of childhood. Of the little one who recreates himself with the projection of being a race car driver, a house builder, or Barbie's companion in her pink truck. Unattainable goals for many, which can only be achieved in a playful world. Nevertheless, there remains the need for the child to play, the urgency to repair the toy, to preserve that space and that time in which everything is possible. Of his perpetual need to play with the materials, with the contents and with the tricks of the creator's workshop. With the generation of illusions based on precarious pieces.
Everything begins with the game, and with the toy, and in this case, everything ends here too. The end returns to the beginning, waiting for the new adventures of Norton Maza, a big boy who needs to keep playing. Don't we, the spectators, also need to play and play.
Text: Juan José Santos