An exuberant cloak of color blinded us.

On the other side, vestigial images roam the streets inhabiting anarchic settings whose loneliness hides behind the best prints.

At his feet the green draws a silhouette that, like papier-mâché, is cut out and dressed in white on dark winter afternoons.
It neighs the echo of the warp that hides the shipwreck of a decadent social model.

A place of sheet metal and steel, witness to the fall of a dream. Unfinished promises, we gather around the well of wishes to be fulfilled.

We hope, airing longings for another time. Echoing the deaf sound of your walk, I wait, clinging to my bubble, for the storm to pass
That dyes the sky of the last day of summer gray.

The essential is alien to the gaze.

Jose Luis Ceña