Números, escaques y figuras

In the last round of the Uruguayan Chess Championship (April 2025), an interesting pattern emerged in my conversations with several players, organizers, and enthusiasts. When I mentioned my intention to relaunch my chess site and revive the History of Mathematics forum, some reactions were as sincere as they were unsettling:

"People don't read like they used to."
"No one has time for long texts anymore."
"Social media is all I look at now."

I found these observations to be very reasonable. In a world overwhelmed by headlines, notifications and information condensed into 15-second snippets, it is not surprising that attention is diverted. However, there is one very critical element that escapes these platforms: true understanding.

Beyond the Scroll

Neither chess nor mathematics can be learned through shortcuts. They require structure, intuition, time. And that doesn't fit in a carousel or a video that disappears in 24 hours.

This site is born—or perhaps reborn—as a necessary response to that void. It doesn't aim to compete with the noise, but to offer something else: content with time. Analyses that explain in depth. Problems that spark curiosity beyond just the answer. Texts that leave more than a fleeting impression.

Bobby Fischer didn't learn through reels: he learned Russian to read Soviet chess magazines. Magnus Carlsen didn't become world champion by watching TikToks: he analysed thousands of classical games.

Ideas Matter

Throughout history, great minds have understood that true wisdom lies not in discussing people or transient events, but in the power of ideas. One such figure was Rudolf Kalman, electrical engineer and mathematician whose work transformed modern control theory. He once recalled an inscription he found in a Colorado Springs pub in 1962:

Small minds discuss people.
Average minds discuss events.
Great minds discuss ideas.

Kalman held to this way of thinking, and his actions always reflected a deep search for meaning. This same search resonated with another singular mind of the 20th century: Marcel Duchamp, passionate chess player and pioneer of modern art.

In a lecture given on August 30, 1952, during the annual meeting of the New York State Chess Association in the village of Cazenovia, Duchamp shared a memorable insight:

The beauty in chess is closer to the beauty in poetry; the chess pieces are the alphabet that shapes thoughts; and these thoughts, while creating a visual design on the board, express their beauty abstractly, like a poem... From my close contact with artists and chess players, I have come to the personal conclusion that while not all artists are chess players, all chess players are artists.

For Duchamp, chess was much more than a game: it was a way of thinking, creating, marvelling at the mind in motion. For him, the board was a canvas, and the pieces, an alphabet that shaped abstract thoughts. He opposed reducing chess to mere moves or results, elevating it as a philosophy of exploration. Each move, in his view, was an opportunity to discover beauty and meaning. Chess was a gateway to a world where the human mind ventured beyond the conventional, creating ephemeral masterpieces that challenged the boundaries of logic and art.

A Door Reopened

In this space, we continue that same search for understanding. To understand thoroughly, to take a moment to contemplate, to link concepts across disciplines—that’s the entryway we aim to keep accessible.

Although a significant portion of our content is freely accessible, we also offer exclusive materials for committed subscribers and premium members. Join us to explore further and discover new insights.

In the whirlwind of the instantaneous, amidst the noise and frenzy, is there still room for enduring ideas, for thinking that doesn't expire? Thinking deliberately in accelerated times may be the ultimate act of rebellion.

In his book The Black Swan (2007), Nassim Nicholas Taleb describes Umberto Eco’s private library and coins the term “antilibrary” — referring to a large collection of unread books that symbolises not what we know, but all that remains unknown. Taleb writes:

“The writer Umberto Eco belongs to that small class of scholars who are encyclopaedic, insightful, and nondull. He is the owner of a large personal library (containing thirty thousand books), and separates visitors into two categories: those who react with ‘Wow! Signore professore dottore Eco, what a library you have! How many of these books have you read?’ and the others — a very small minority — who get the point that a private library is not an ego-boosting appendage but a research tool. Read books are far less valuable than unread ones. […] You will accumulate more knowledge and more books as you grow older, and the growing number of unread books on the shelves will look at you menacingly. Indeed, the more you know, the larger the rows of unread books. Let us call this collection of unread books an antilibrary.”

This philosophy aligns closely with our perspective. Rather than celebrating what has already been mastered, this library embraces what remains unexplored. With over 10,000 printed volumes — and steadily expanding — our personal collection constitutes one of the most extensive bodies of Spanish-language chess literature in South America.

This is not a display of previous victories, but an active collection of unanswered enquiries: games still to be understood, strategic concepts in slumber, openings yearning for new perspectives, overlooked reflections whispering from old pages.

Might this library be seen as an antilibrary, much like the one Taleb described in connection with Eco? Each added book signifies not the conclusion of a cycle, but rather the beginning of a new one.

These shelves contain more than information — they invite us to consider where knowledge begins and where it might lead. Within them, like drawings on paper, we trace the unfolding richness of chess.

Step inside this growing collection, where every shelf holds lesser-known parts of the chess universe.

Like a game paused mid-move, what captures our attention is not what is already known, but what remains to be discovered.

We are equally interested in discovering other private libraries that share these qualities: personal collections composed of printed books, many of them rare or difficult to find.

It is worth underscoring that our focus lies explicitly on physical collections — especially at a time when much new chess material is published solely in digital formats, often without any printed counterpart.

We actively seek to establish bonds with other collectors who share this reverence for chess literature in print — personal archives composed of physical volumes, many of them rare or hard to find. In an era when vast chess insights fade into transient data, these tangible items represent our quiet defiance: bulletins marked by forgotten players, marginal notes echoing across ages, a means of anchoring the game's history in material memory. We deliberately emphasise physical collections, precisely because their enduring presence counters the fleeting nature of the digital — each book a living conversation between players of the past and the present.

This website has been crafted with deliberate care: each page has been meticulously validated against current web standards, with equal attention given to semantic structure and responsive design. Particular effort has been devoted to optimisation for Windows and Android devices — from desktop displays to high-end mobile screens — though other systems have by no means been overlooked. This decision arises from the tools currently at our disposal — but the aim has never strayed from ensuring access remains open to all.

Some underlying considerations:

▢ The layout has been built with deliberate simplicity and purpose, so that browsers — and assistive tools — can parse the content accurately. The result: HTML that means what it says.

▢ The design adjusts itself gracefully to a wide range of screen sizes, maintaining both clarity and a consistent aesthetic.

▢ Only what is strictly necessary is included. Scripts and images are delayed in loading, helping the site respond swiftly and with minimal overhead.

▢ The structure of the code is orderly and easy to maintain, leaving room for future changes without requiring full redesigns.

But beyond structural integrity lies a deeper aim: to create a digital environment that holds value and withstands the test of time. This project is ongoing — evolving steadily, in rhythm with technology itself, without losing sight of its identity or purpose.

A webpage resembles a tapestry in progress: like those medieval weavings that took years to complete, thread by thread. Each visit leaves its mark — some fleeting, others more enduring — all woven into the narrative fabric of the site.

The code is the hidden foundation; design is the form that breathes life into it. And though the process never truly ends — the web is ever in motion — this very openness is part of its allure.

We continue to refine and adjust. Not in pursuit of some unreachable perfection, but because we believe in the value of the journey. Like Penelope, weaving and unweaving, we trust that time plays a vital role in what emerges. Nothing here is to be taken as final: each enhancement reflects a quiet conviction — that technical precision and visitor experience must evolve together, without erasing the essence.

Should you spot a flaw, have a suggestion, or simply wish to share a thought, it will be most welcome. For this project — like the network it inhabits — grows stronger when shaped collectively.

Let the art of design and the substance of ideas stand as mirrored counterparts — one revealing the visible, the other the essential. For, as in Borges’ Aleph, the internet holds within it spaces that are, that have ceased to be, and those yet to come.

Between chessboards and equations that reveal imperceptible harmonies, we hold a firm belief: knowledge matures with time—and with the beauty of well-conceived structures.

In this corner of the world, where the essential still endures, we offer a refuge for lucidity: a quiet pause before the whirlwind of the irrational.