• "Painting Akelarre" (2m x 2m)
• Oil over canvas
• 2013

I don't know why I feel such a pleasure on imagining an earth without humankind, maybe is only a survival mechanism, the soul retreating to find his empty surrounding space. A sign that our world has got too crowded. The horror of the consciousness realizing of its tantalizing futility, the awkward ordinariness of its own unique nature.

But don't lie to yourself this Portuguese saudade of an old time that happened a long time ago is only an excuse. I didn't experience those times where human beings were scarce. I could imagine that, but this would be another thing, an expression of a feeling that I have now in the present. It is for sure the inner unexpressed nothingness that itches our very soul at night, definitely the blancovide (white-void) described by Joyce. It is always a metaphor of an inner feeling that has probably nothing to do with the actual past and the real nostalgia.

Anyway, it was an upon-the-time, where sex was to important to be perverse. Long before the guilty incense Christian fumes, I could imagine a time when the bodies were true. Those were times when we painted our skin with the joy of the savage. When for a moment, our flesh was made out of sculpture, or perhaps all sculptures were flesh made.

Heroes we were, founding ourselves on the duty of being the only exception that could support the self. A human scar on an empty world. A truly exception waiting to be normalized.