The Glass Pavilion will be partly buried in the ground, as if growing out of the earth of Otazu. The stainless-steel structure is clad in semi-transparent glass: you can see the interior and, at the same time, the landscape through the sculpture, while the sky is reflected on the walls and the roof.

Inside, following the frame, tubes with LED lights about three centimetres in diameter run along the steel structure. The light, a warm yellow, draws a glowing outline in the darkness.

The proposal is inspired by lines from Shakespeare's Macbeth and by a group of American landscape architecture students close to Garrett Eckbo (1921-2000). I have prepared a provisional plan of movements covering ten displacements, which would be the equivalent of ten months or weeks.

The movement would span the whole area of the winery from one side to the other. Once the trees have reached and conquered the ground, the movement would be reversed and they would return to the starting side. The trees should stand close to one another and be moved in the evening, after the visitors have gone, to underline the autonomous, ghostly manoeuvre.

The cylinders are cast using flexible membrane formwork and measure 17.5, 20 and 22.5 metres long. The intervention gives substance to the space between the buildings with a non-intrusive proposal that organises occupation and movement.

The shape of the cylinders comes from the material process itself: the internal pressure exerted by liquid concrete inside the flexible formwork. At 40 to 60 centimetres high, they can be sat or lain on and, at the same time, crossed or stepped over at any point. The arms unfold from the centre along three axes that divide the trapezoidal plot into as many unequal sections.

In a landscape transformed by man, the regular pattern of the vineyard dominates the horizon. A vineyard is a garden, and a garden can be a labyrinth, an enclosed space, a place of contemplation and reflection. The vine will grow organically over the walls.

On the concrete slab, set into the ground, brick walls are built so as to create a labyrinth. They will be 40 centimetres thick and between 1.20 and 1.50 metres high, sculpted to look like ruins, rubble from another time. A brick bench will be built beside the path and a drip irrigation system will be installed to supply the whole vineyard.

The intention of the project is to use local elements typical of the area: the soil and the way humans shape the landscape using its resources. On the chosen site a cone-shaped pit would be dug, with a top circle 800 centimetres in diameter and 400 centimetres deep at its central axis. A hole of this shape alludes to the form of a hill that seems to be turned upwards and inwards.

If we imagine a real hill with an oak on top — the conceptual source of this installation — the roots of the tree inside the ground would be invisible to the viewer; but in this inverted context they would be the only visible part of the oak, as if seen from within.

Although the origin or specific function of the obelisk is not known for certain, it is assumed that these monumental blocks of stone worshipped the sun. Their origins can be traced to Egypt. The obvious phallic symbol has been no secret to anyone, and the obelisk also became a key piece in the reshuffling of world powers: owning or appropriating one was a demonstration of a ruler's, a politician's or a soldier's might.

The contemporary reinterpretation of power and sexuality sets us the difficult task of rethinking the presence, the monumentality and the intention of public sculpture. This is an exercise in three stages on the disappearance of a monument: how do we set aside the centralist, verticalist dominance of the world? How do we make a monument a receiver rather than an impostor? How can it engage more fraternally with its space?

Sixteen dodecahedrons are stacked one above the other to a height of 8 metres. As they are stacked, each component rotates slightly from the one before, creating a subtle vertical spiral. At the foot of the column five more dodecahedrons rest, as if fallen or waiting to be placed in formation, reflecting the sky and the landscape as the viewer walks around it.

The minimalist look of the sculpture conceals the complexity of its geometry, as has happened throughout history with philosophical, scientific and artistic ideas. The column draws a straight line from the ground to the sky, as if trying to connect both dimensions: ground and sky connected ask the viewer for a commitment, not only individual but also as a member of a collective.

The work consists of a pentagon of slate sheets and five guide rails installed at the horizon line. Guide rails belong to that category of functional objects we normally perceive only at the periphery of our existence. They are nevertheless essential: they let us navigate the world and follow a trajectory.

With the arrival of Futurism, and Marinetti in particular, the idea of the object in motion was elevated: speed and momentum became synonymous with beauty. Objects in motion are separate neither from other objects nor from their surroundings; they seem to merge and blend with each other and with the landscape. The work reflects on that movement and that sense of convergence: how a journey becomes an experience of geometry and speed, which is in fact the structure of our own experience of the world.

The Chac Mool is a reclining figure that seems either to have drunk already or to be waiting for its cup to be filled. Chac Mools are depicted again and again in Maya culture.

Otazu, through its ties with Latin America, is an ideal landscape in which to raise a modern Chac Mool: a family with American roots celebrating the arrival of the god of wine in a European country. The Chac Mool seems to wait for his cup to be filled in order to shower good fortune and blessings on everyone living on the estate.