Difficult landscape, transferred with an hourglass beat to the lives it contains. Every given-back particle joins to every blood passively. It’s a cycle dried up in eyes and nostrils, which re-causes flu and strengthens illness.
We are one, a perfect non-lubricated system, squeaking. Predominantly gray with some light ocher shades in dried or bleeding wounds of an uncovered brick wall, ribcages. Cracks that move forwards and sometimes suggest big smiles, but they are always otherwise.
Apparent and true chaos, spontaneous relieves, self-dedicated murals of oblivion, which are, all in all, mirrors.
Words & Images: Eduardo Bermúdez