Night mist (2017)
oil on the board
Time hisses an atmosphere of fire on the cold nave of the night “fantomas”, where sweat and tears are intermingled with pleasure and unusual questions, and inexhaustible. Each space lock, delivers its discrete code, whispering or screaming. The nightlife opened up the iron sheets of the modern tramway, where the swarms of hostility, loneliness or the reversal of ephemeral things swirl into destabilizing experiences. Run, run away, pass, for that I still hold you time for a comforting music. And I hear ourselves evolve, each time, every night, where the sun is coated with mist of onyx, or crystal, as many as glasses rain of magic. And love tirelessly observes the scene and the scenarios.