Hikuri (2021)

Mexico City, MEXICO

Acrylic paint on plywood, 50x100 cm.

But who's to say how they really begin, these stories bowling us through space and time? How, all these happenings and shifts change into shapes and words? And then, as if by accident, but not really, an experience? A network of occurrences haphazardly stapled to the fabric of reality by some clumsy hand; layers and layers of reality populated by people, but not really. Cowboys and Indians, terrorists, gurus, and whores trapped in a comedy, a thriller, or a cotton candy cloud of probability. The haunted house at the end of the street, a monster under the bed, the lost detective, an astronaut, and the greedy hand of an infant forming loving landscapes on its mother's cheek. How do they really start? These imaginings that feed our desires, and make things appear, only to implode seconds later?