The secret weapons

For the last two months, life has turned into a snake. A snake of broken promises, some unimportant, some really relevant, all of them getting glued together one day after another. Who cares. Well, that is the problem. Who cares.

Anyhow, other than feeling miserable, I care about my back. So I got me a superbeautifully designed chair, to spend days, and months, and the rest of my life safe,  working from home. But being pretty is not enough in life, so after three weeks looking at the lovely chair, while wondering if my eyes are really more important to me than my back,  I emailed my chiropractor a pic of the chair and was recommended to give it back.

Then I spent a week googling chairs, reading about chairs and almost going mad about ergonomic chairs being ugly as shit and expensive as riding Ferraris. Finally I found one of the top recommended chairs at a third of its price on ebay. So, I am happy as someone who is getting a hideous chair at home for a healthy back can be. Hope it really becomes a secret weapon to draw and write and stay all happy.

Speaking of secret weapons, Las Armas Secretas is the name of the book I just end up reading, by Julio Cortázar, so this is the new drawing made on it, for my series Inks on books!

I would write about the book if I did not really hate writing crits. Reminds me of school. So go and read it, you lazy people. No promises needed!


las armas secretas019


I finally made my first long distance holiday trip after autumn in Canada, back in 2012. Yay. On that occasion, I came back with so many sketches that I felt I should do the same again. But. I decided to take a holiday break for real. Meaning, just one drawing on arrival, and that´s all you get guys!

(non cleaning the scanned thing is part of it. ha!)


Boom Boom Beats



Fancy my illustrations? Write me! If interested in commissioning my original works, getting digital prints or just for feedback. Let´s talk! I´m Amaya at:

A happy reader´s life

A happy reader´s life

Fancy my illustrations? Write me! If interested in commissioning my original works, getting digital prints or just for feedback. Let´s talk! I´m Amaya at:

so what?


El parte del tiempo.

Últimamente lo pierdo todo y, no se cómo, he adquirido una especial soltura para perder el tiempo. Jugueteo con él, lo cambio de sitio, dejo de prestarle atención y de repente ¡zas!, ha desaparecido. Ahora entiendo el estrés al que viven sometidos los miopes y astigmáticos, forzosamente vinculados desde la infancia a unas gafas que se pierden y no siempre se encuentran. En mi vida ocurre lo mismo, cada vez que pierdo el tiempo, me cuesta horrores recuperarlo. La mayoría de las veces encuentro algún segundo roto, medio minuto a lo sumo, que, despegado de las horas pasadas, ya no me sirve de nada. Suele tratarse de aquel segundo que tardó en cruzar mi mente la idea de hacer algo productivo, idea que jamás se desarrolla más allá de treinta segundos. Debe ser degeneración profesional. Trabajando en publicidad estabulas tus ideas para que no duren más allá de treinta segundos. Y luego qué ¿eh? Y luego qué…Luego sigo buscando el resto del tiempo perdido, no vaya a ser que me lo haya dejado encima de la cisterna, o lo haya puesto en el congelador con los cincuenta tupperware de lentejas que lleno cada vez que hago lentejas. Porque, para ahorrar tiempo, siempre cocino un kilo de lentejas que luego congelo. Y eso me permite disponer de mucho más tiempo libre que perder. Es un fenómeno asombroso. He intentado buscarle un hueco al tiempo, para dejarlo siempre en el mismo y volver a por él cuando lo necesite. Sin embargo olvido recurrentemente cual era el lugar elegido. He intentado poner alarmas en mi móvil para recordarme que debería estar aprovechando mi tiempo. Pero solo sirven para que cada pitido me recuerde cuánto tiempo he perdido entre él y la anterior alarma programada. Me encuentro en un bucle.

La constatación de mi permanente pérdida de tiempo me ha llevado a encerrarme en casa con el objetivo de marcar unas fronteras controlables a mis minutos, a mis horas, a mis días. Gracias a eso ahora ya se que, si me levanto tarde, el tiempo perdido se ha quedado entre las sábanas. Entonces sacudo el edredón con todas mis fuerzas y esa misma noche recupero varias horas en forma de insomnio. Aunque al día siguiente me levanto aún más tarde. Yo solita he inventado el jet-lag de andar por casa. Y como hace tiempo que no salgo, he renunciado a todas mis obligaciones mundanas, por eso ya nunca se me echa el tiempo encima. Soy yo la que, cuando lo veo colarse por la rendija del ventilador del dvd, me echo encima de él y me paso tardes enteras viendo Futurama. Enfrascada en el análisis exhaustivo de la serie, para averiguar si en el año 3000 por fin habrá alguien inventado una forma de no perder más el tiempo. De momento he descubierto que existirá un chisme para no perder las gafas.

Amaya Uscola 2007 (5 years in love for killing time)

Fancy my illustrations? Write me! If interested in commissioning my original works, getting digital prints or just for feedback. Let´s talk! I´m Amaya at:

The unknown


The game for me here at Casa53, is drawing the objects around the house, associating personal experiences and thoughts to them.

Today, I found this ermmm……


Fancy my  illustrations? Write me! If interested in my original works, digital prints or just for feedback. Let´s talk!

Love is white

Love is defined for what it is not as, in subtractive color systems, white is defined by the absence of colors. Love is white. Love is the absence of red eyes, green jealousy, brown fights, yellow lies, orange fears, grey conversations, blue tears and black thoughts. Love is the void of badly coloured feelings. Love is white. And my scanner sucks.

Fancy my  illustrations? Write me! If interested in my original works, digital prints or just for feedback. Let´s talk!

Solution: the differences years make.

More than 2 years since I first drawed a friend´s “Firenze” thimble, for my “Collectors” project, leaving it unfinished. A year later I recycled the “collecting” topic to start this blog. But I never opened that project sketchbook again . Only last week, delivering this new “Luxor” thimble as a present to my friend, I felt like finishing this drawing.

Now I only need to finish another thousand zillion ideas I started in these 2 years to keep this amazing feeling of fully stop something. But the difference years make is that one day you realize you have loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooots of time to end things up.

Drawing dedicated to the mysterious collector. Mysterious, because I still don´t know…why thimbles?

In the thrill of to frill or not to frill

Tamarinda. A german sewing machine. My Christmas present. Now living in 53m2. I had to come up with something for her.

First it was sewing frills to cover all the room, the flat, the building, the neighboorhood…the city! All covered in frills. An art intervention using a metaphor of a granny-style industrial-proportions humanization of modern megalopolis. But intellectualizing these sort of ideas for those who enjoy reading brainy descriptions is so boring that, unless someone writes all rationals for me, I won´t cover Mexico DF in frills. No, please, do not insist.

Then I thought that designing pillows with characters was more reasonable for one night fun. If fun was the word. Cause this was the idea I came up with: (please click here), and it was such a pain to produce. Tamarinda got jammed once and again in the making. And I hate reading instructions (not to mention following them). Because I secretly wish every tool worked with just one on & off button, not needing to move an eyebrow for absolutely nothing  but approving the presence in 53m2 of any new intelligent object, to make all the work for me.

Hours after uselessly trying a straight stitch, I ended up reading the complete handbook .

And it worked. So I questioned myself what would happen if I was a very poor woman with no resources but cotton production leftovers from the factory next to the bridge under which I sleep with my 7 sons. And where I found a sewing machine left by a mysterious passerby with no instructions, 10 years BZMHAM (Before Zara Mango and HM). A machine like Tamarinda. Let´s say, Tomatinda.


I was poor but found a sewing machine. Ah! And the passer-by is mysterious so my story sounds cooler. So. Would I learn how to use the machine just using my intuition, therefore having a tool to work in crafted clothing goods, using leftovers from the factory, getting myself  out of poverty, starting up an empire of cloth crafts, and years later getting a Nobel Prize in Economy?

Or would I get so fucking desperate with the machine getting jammed all the time that I would prefer to stay poor but sane? Well. You guessed. But being positive, this is how I realized I can use my lack of patience as an excuse not to be rich, famous and laureate.