I don’t particularly like being naked, I feel… I don’t know… like… naked. Who knows, maybe if the world were made of flowers.
he mob retreats at last, they are dressed funny so I laugh in my mind opening an enormous mouth which fills the entire room and eats everyone. Afterwards, the lights softens… some, the ones that make the environment sad; the others, the colored ones, come to life following the beat of the music. Ah… the music. I feel it in my body.
It is difficult to focus at first, for any song plays (or parts of songs rather); I hear them as the memories of my recent life pop in my head. In the end, I manage to choose one.
I don’t know why I got to draw a donkey, subconscious stuff I guess. I made several illustrations in this style, kind of fauve; they got out fast, as if from really deep inside of me.
e answered her: “I don’t need to do that, to manipulate the physical, to demonstrate my power in the material. Because I work from behind the dream, creating beforehand, no fuss. Why forcing things and breaking accepted laws, making myself evident, when going back in time and planting a new seed suffices.”
he couldn’t believe what was happening. She wasn’t just one, but twenty personalities blatantly interrupting each other. And it didn’t just happen to her.
Stranded in that town in ruins, Pêch didn’t imagine that while the ugly and surly butcher who she was speaking to was preparing her order, a voluptuous teenager felt in his body the vibrations of the meat crushing in the grinder.
I made this work—as always—in Illustrator, drawing the vectors freehand over a photograph I took myself.
The Floralis Genérica is a metal sculpture placed in the United Nations Square on Avenida Figueroa Alcorta in Buenos Aires. It was made of stainless steel with an aluminum and concrete skeleton. Supposedly, the petals should open and close automatically on a certain time of the day, but the electrical system that accomplishes this marvel is broken, and no one wants to put the money needed to repair it.
here’s something else, those who watch me from their dreams. Atfar was one of them. From the beginning, he watched me while sleeping taking bodies as vehicles, other people. The best of it is you were one of them, and I noticed, like I noticed before. Because I see the face of the dreamer in the other’s face.
t is unbelievable, I know. Though I believe it. That makes me different. Not from all but from most. Not from you certainly. You, who see me through the wall.
Life is mostly slow and boring. Maybe not ours–meaning our life together.