Topacio’s Afterglow
Cover Story, July–August 2026
“Topacio (or 36 Linear Metres of Pink Neon)” (2026) includes several pink neon tubes salvaged from the façade of a shop in Santa Cruz de Tenerife whose name lends its title to the work. It hovers between an architectural outline and an illuminated sentence whose meaning has slipped away. By day, the tubing of Topacio once appeared almost fragile; at dusk it resumed its familiar task of advertising, and today there is nothing left to sell.
Designed in 1975 by the young architect José Miguel Molowny Barreto, the 19-storey Olympo building became one of the tallest structures in the Canary Islands and an unmistakable landmark on Santa Cruz de Tenerife’s skyline. Topacio was part of its commercial arcade, and sold gemstones, traditional tablecloths, and other souvenirs until changing retail habits led to its closure. Before the signage could be discarded, Israel Pérez—one half of artists duo Pérez y Requena—carefully dismantled part of the original installation with the assistance of Ángel of Luzafa, among the last neon specialists still practising the craft on the islands.
“Topacio” forms part of “A Parrot, Three Bars, and Gold Teeth”, Pérez y Requena’s exhibition at TEA Tenerife Espacio de las Artes, Santa Cruz de Tenerife, that recently opened at TEA’s Sala C, and on view until 18 October 2026. Co-curated by Néstor Delgado Morales and Latitudes, the exhibition brings together sixteen new works that approach the artists’ native city as a fragmentary archive assembled from memory, territory, fiction and documentary traces, revealing places, forms of labour, and urban landscapes that have gradually disappeared.
Rather than reconstructing the original sign, the artists isolate one of its defining technologies: neon itself. Detached from language and commerce, light becomes a vessel for memory. Can the atmosphere of a place be preserved without preserving its original use? Can a material outlive the words it once formed?
Neon occupies an ambiguous position. Associated with spectacle, it nevertheless depends on a delicate choreography of glass, rare gases, electricity, and skilled manual labour for it to perform. Like many urban infrastructures, it often becomes visible only when it fails or disappears. The pink lines neither mourn nor celebrate the past. Instead, they remind us that cities are shaped not only by their buildings, but also by the technologies, crafts, and fleeting illuminations that define how they are inhabited, remembered, and seen from afar.
Designed in 1975 by the young architect José Miguel Molowny Barreto, the 19-storey Olympo building became one of the tallest structures in the Canary Islands and an unmistakable landmark on Santa Cruz de Tenerife’s skyline. Topacio was part of its commercial arcade, and sold gemstones, traditional tablecloths, and other souvenirs until changing retail habits led to its closure. Before the signage could be discarded, Israel Pérez—one half of artists duo Pérez y Requena—carefully dismantled part of the original installation with the assistance of Ángel of Luzafa, among the last neon specialists still practising the craft on the islands.
“Topacio” forms part of “A Parrot, Three Bars, and Gold Teeth”, Pérez y Requena’s exhibition at TEA Tenerife Espacio de las Artes, Santa Cruz de Tenerife, that recently opened at TEA’s Sala C, and on view until 18 October 2026. Co-curated by Néstor Delgado Morales and Latitudes, the exhibition brings together sixteen new works that approach the artists’ native city as a fragmentary archive assembled from memory, territory, fiction and documentary traces, revealing places, forms of labour, and urban landscapes that have gradually disappeared.
Rather than reconstructing the original sign, the artists isolate one of its defining technologies: neon itself. Detached from language and commerce, light becomes a vessel for memory. Can the atmosphere of a place be preserved without preserving its original use? Can a material outlive the words it once formed?
Neon occupies an ambiguous position. Associated with spectacle, it nevertheless depends on a delicate choreography of glass, rare gases, electricity, and skilled manual labour for it to perform. Like many urban infrastructures, it often becomes visible only when it fails or disappears. The pink lines neither mourn nor celebrate the past. Instead, they remind us that cities are shaped not only by their buildings, but also by the technologies, crafts, and fleeting illuminations that define how they are inhabited, remembered, and seen from afar.
- COVER STORY, JULY–AUGUST 2026
Topacio’s Afterglow
Cover Story, July–August 2026
Cover Story Archive“Topacio (or 36 Linear Metres of Pink Neon)” (2026) includes several pink neon tubes salvaged from the façade of a shop in Santa Cruz de Tenerife whose name lends its title to the work. It hovers between an architectural outline and an illuminated sentence whose meaning has slipped away. By day, the tubing of Topacio once appeared almost fragile; at dusk it resumed its familiar task of advertising, and today there is nothing left to sell.
Designed in 1975 by the young architect José Miguel Molowny Barreto, the 19-storey Olympo building became one of the tallest structures in the Canary Islands and an unmistakable landmark on Santa Cruz de Tenerife’s skyline. Topacio was part of its commercial arcade, and sold gemstones, traditional tablecloths, and other souvenirs until changing retail habits led to its closure. Before the signage could be discarded, Israel Pérez—one half of artists duo Pérez y Requena—carefully dismantled part of the original installation with the assistance of Ángel of Luzafa, among the last neon specialists still practising the craft on the islands.
“Topacio” forms part of “A Parrot, Three Bars, and Gold Teeth”, Pérez y Requena’s exhibition at TEA Tenerife Espacio de las Artes, Santa Cruz de Tenerife, that recently opened at TEA’s Sala C, and on view until 18 October 2026. Co-curated by Néstor Delgado Morales and Latitudes, the exhibition brings together sixteen new works that approach the artists’ native city as a fragmentary archive assembled from memory, territory, fiction and documentary traces, revealing places, forms of labour, and urban landscapes that have gradually disappeared.
Rather than reconstructing the original sign, the artists isolate one of its defining technologies: neon itself. Detached from language and commerce, light becomes a vessel for memory. Can the atmosphere of a place be preserved without preserving its original use? Can a material outlive the words it once formed?
Neon occupies an ambiguous position. Associated with spectacle, it nevertheless depends on a delicate choreography of glass, rare gases, electricity, and skilled manual labour for it to perform. Like many urban infrastructures, it often becomes visible only when it fails or disappears. The pink lines neither mourn nor celebrate the past. Instead, they remind us that cities are shaped not only by their buildings, but also by the technologies, crafts, and fleeting illuminations that define how they are inhabited, remembered, and seen from afar.