The Supernatural Series occupies a pivotal position within Anto Lloveras’s socioplastics, marking a decisive shift from urban critique toward an ethics of ecological listening. Active since at least 2015, the series reframes artistic intervention as a practice of attunement rather than inscription. Where the Taxidermy series dissected the city as an animal-body subjected to extraction and display, Supernatural withdraws from the metropolitan metabolism to engage rural and natural contexts as living, autonomous systems. This is not a romantic return to nature, but a critical recalibration of scale, time, and agency. The series privileges impermanence, contextual ritual, and minimal presence, aligning with broader post-anthropocentric debates in contemporary art and environmental humanities. Landscapes are treated not as neutral backdrops but as epistemic fields—sites that speak through wind, sediment, seasonal rhythms, and decay. Lloveras’s gestures are deliberately light: subtraction, concealment, walking, collecting. In this sense, Supernatural functions as a counter-model to extractive cultural production, proposing instead a reparative, zero-waste praxis that understands fragility as a political condition rather than a deficiency.
Conceptually, Supernatural operates as a meta-documentary structure articulated through the triad “Situation, Context, and Memory.” Works such as Duna Dunaj (Slovakia, 2015), As Far As The Arm Can Reach (Norway, 2015), and Hidden Forces (Cádiz, 2019) exemplify this approach by foregrounding disappearance over presence. In Hidden Forces, graffiti-marked concrete barriers are quietly transformed into Suprematist white rectangles, which are then surrendered to erosion by wind and sand. The act is neither monumental nor preservative; its meaning unfolds through fading. This logic extends to residencies such as Sunflower Fields (Bokros, Slovakia, 2019), where rural collaboration, lectures, and performances situate nature as narrative rather than resource. Here, socioplastics becomes an expanded form of land art stripped of heroic gestures and monumental traces, closer to a phenomenological exercise in shared temporality. The series thus repositions land art away from its historical association with territorial marking and toward a relational ecology grounded in care, listening, and withdrawal.
The Supernatural Series is inseparable from Lloveras’s use of nomadic tools and chromatic fixers—most notably the Yellow Bag—which operate as portable archives and affective sensors. Collecting sand, leaves, or heat during walks, these objects translate landscape experience into minimal, transportable memory without converting it into commodity. This strategy collapses the distinction between documentation and action, aligning with the Raw Identity Video Series, where unedited footage captures bodies embedded in natural flows. Works such as Nature Boy (2023) extend this logic into film, producing twin-channel installations that emphasize bodily rhythm and environmental immersion. These videos do not explain; they witness. The refusal of narrative closure situates Supernatural within a broader critique of spectacle-driven ecological art, favoring instead what might be called a low-frequency aesthetics—subtle, repetitive, and resistant to immediate consumption. The absence of major post-2023 activations is therefore not a sign of exhaustion but a structural feature of the series, consistent with its emphasis on latency, dormancy, and seasonal logic.
Within the broader field of contemporary art, Supernatural functions as a bridge between relational aesthetics, ecological art, and post-conceptual minimalism. Its affinity with practices by Francis Alÿs, Mierle Laderman Ukeles, or Roman Signer is evident, yet Lloveras’s contribution lies in the sustained integration of architectural thinking, epistemology, and nomadic ritual. The series resists institutional capture by remaining dispersed, lightly documented, and context-dependent. It critiques urban commodification not through denunciation but through strategic retreat, proposing nature as a site of methodological renewal rather than ideological refuge. In doing so, Supernatural articulates a quiet but rigorous response to planetary crisis: an art that does less, stays longer, and listens harder. Its relevance is not measured by visibility but by duration and ethical consistency. As part of socioplastics, Supernatural ultimately frames art as a form of ecological literacy—one that acknowledges limits, embraces impermanence, and redefines authorship as shared exposure to time.
