There are places that can not be reached by words. Places where only memory inhabits our soul: Secrets, parallel paths, recurrent ghosts of dreams. Spaces where the memories and secrets are kept.Between superimposed worlds, stopped moments, I remake a puzzle revealing riddles: A house that was, the forgotten inheritance, a room and dead butterflies. Everything as a "circular ruin" returns to a beginning…
What marks our childhood?, A birth certificate, a given name?. And thus we come to the world... naked and winged.
The soul is left in photos... and a hint of dead butterflies... A forgotten toy in a locked attic, a fragile rose like those children… butterflies.
What marks our childhood?, A birth certificate, a given name?. And thus we come to the world... naked and winged.
The soul is left in photos... and a hint of dead butterflies... A forgotten toy in a locked attic, a fragile rose like those children… butterflies.
