In some of her long rambles, whenever she could, her steps led her to that beautiful garden, sometimes full of light, as well as in another moments, painted with shades of afternoons, spred over with freshness and at the same time with a strange warm welcome. Certain it is that her grief was that she always found that door closed and could never enter, so the poor woman was almost reduced to despair. Musing on the scene, nor was it a great impediment to her imaginative capacity, which led her to enter its paths, its corners and thus be able to feel wrapped in such lush vegetation. Who kept and closed that old palings? Who insisted on putting a brake on her illusions? Really her gaze was challenging, too quaint, stopped in front of that old door. Taking for granted that it would be closed.

She was part of nature, she was part of the pure air, part of that forlorn and apparently abandoned garden. It was hers, a kind of homebred sensibility, which made her live a world much of her own and she was going back, day after day, until she could get through that barrier. Could be a beautiful picture of decision and her friend was that cozy, dapper Ipomea, who caressed her with its leaves, when she was near. In the pathway of that morning glory, that afternoon glory, glory of all time. Happily, we can feel welcomed and trapped by a place, no matter if it is small, hidden or poorly valued by others. The treasures of some people, may be irrelevant to others, can you doubt it?. Beautiful and elegant, stubborn and constant ... in the end, she was going to enter, determined to revisit the place. Dreams could hold illimitable dominion over will. In the course of time, we'll see her getting lost in the shadows of the stems, of the vines, lost in the perfume of the flowers, in the paths of that  glorious afternoon.

This is an unusual vision, it is not a situation of everyday life so in this way, it could have many meanings. I’d like to introduce you to the image, saying that it is located in an old and abandoned place, full of ash and cinders from a long time ago, the first impression after seeing the place is surely "the passage of time", then personally it brings to my mind what Mother Nature always reminds us, we are nothing in the extent of life and time, we will return to Earth, in ash or in other types of matter. "Ash we are and we will become ash." The unforgettable memory of our own expiration.

What is left after a life here breathing and doing things? Memories and ash, little else.

Nevertheless, this image could well mean the duality that surrounds us, on the one hand as we truly are and on the other hand as people perceive us.

Others only perceive the external appearance, or better yet, as they wish to draw and paint us. Then our inner part, our personality and way of facing the world always remain, inside. That is never lost and is resting in the deepest.

It was not that an idle moment, because she was embroidering those flirty petals on the frame. She didn’t know why she kept using the thimble if there was no hardness when it passed the cloth. The red linen was of good quality, the fabric of the fibres was perfectly seen with the naked eye. There was no doubt, she used it due to her grandmother's memory, her mother's memory, accustomed to see them so many times with a thimble on the tip of their finger. In fact, that day she was delighted in her homework, while enjoying the melody that sounded on the radio.

That radio was her only company, but it became a little hateful when it didn't tune in well.

Perhaps that moment and that scene well represented her personality, her predisposition to never be idle, needing something in her hands, not being able to keep her hands empty or still.

The woman embroidered calmly and only she was bothered from time to time, by the sensation of heat in the contact of the fabric. The fabric weighed, thrown in the hoops, it heated them a little, otherwise everything would have been calm if it wasn't ... if it wasn't ... for those two entries.

Those two disturbing entrances that spread their presence in the scene, creating a corridor from one to another just in front of her, right in front of her gaze. And through that imaginary corridor, which spooky red carpet, characters paraded, entering and leaving that forced scene.

Some characters, most of them pompous, full of pride, paraded comically, as if the world was at their feet. Strangely, there they were, daily, coming and going, like cocks in the corral, with well-stretched necks. Doing and undoing, in a parade without any equal. In her reverie, the woman looked at them and wondered why the scene could not be calm and simple, relaxed in her needlework and hoping that that coming and going between the two entries ceased at once. Who had orchestrated all that ridiculous entertainment? She wanted to close the doors and recover the tranquillity of her life and that nothing and no one got into daily scene.

At times the walls complained, the floor changed its shape and the little reddish slabs turned sharply. In that annoying vision, everything was misplaced and it really was an undone puzzle.

With the music not tuned, just with the buzzing of the stridency, she felt stitches in her fingertip, they were accompanied, sharp sounds and pangs of pain; at that moment she opened her eyes, and saw the drops of blood that ran down her finger, a fine thread that brought her back to reality and took her out of the world of dreams.

She had fallen asleep, with her needlework on her lap ... but still she looked at the entries, with some suspicion, with some distrust, wishing those entrances weren’t alive.

Wondering about this image, it seems like a living person, but not being in a normal state, something happens, it seems to be in a "state of pause". She is, but she is not. She observes, but not participating or not even involved.
For me, it could be a way of facing life. At certain times it can be interesting to try.
Thus, every day we get involved in many actions or social relationships, which involve us spending a lot of energy, sometimes even fighting “to just have a place, have simply a presence or being taking into account” ... and what happens if we stop doing what we do? What would happen if we cease from fighting every day to have proper acceptance? What happens if we stop looking for a balance or justice in daily actions? What happens if we stop spending our energy on these social relationships, which we think they'll enrich us, but do they really tire and cause a lot of wear on us?

Simply, what would happen? if we fall asleep, but still breathe, eyes open wide, but we are not. We do live, but do not get involved.
Are we where we are because we spend a lot of energy fighting and trying to be there every day?
Are we where we are because we are valued by others? What would happen?
So, now we can get some sleep and observe ...
Observe incredibly competitive, selfish, unfair, manipulative, favoritism people.
My experience is that mainly all the ropes or connections that bind us to our social world are cut.
What happens if we fall asleep?

I will try to give an answer:
-“How beautiful life is! and... even asleep, life is still very beautiful.”

That is my conclusion, a positive one.
It has nothing to do with physical beauty.

Querida Laura, …

In this way the letter begins, this time the story is not written here, it is written on paper.

I have always been very fond of new technologies, but I must admit to a certain extent that in the long run they do not offer the same kind of feedback or recreate the same feelings. Before, we spent a whole month reading the same lines, savouring some few ideas, a bit of content that in that way was transformed into something very valuable.

Perhaps "little"… can it be embraced and valued? Maybe "much"…  can it be deformed and less valued? Does easiness make us more lethargic? Maybe difficulty or shortage makes us feel more awake?

Now, somehow, everything is lost before or not preserved in the same way. A lot of information and communication is generated, but it perishes soon, or perhaps because of the quantity, it does not produce the same effect in our mood.

A mountain of letters, my mountain of letters, which could be the memory of half a life.

What memories do we keep now? Not really sure.

It's been a long time since I started to feel what kind of images people expected to see or hoped to see and, on the contrary, what sort of image I wanted to create. Without hesitation, long ago, I decided to do the second option because when someone tries to do something beautiful and artistic, he/she does not think about whether it will be liked by others or not; Even, little matters whether it’ll please or not.

It’s necessary to work and create in the way, whoever performs the work, feels like.

I understand artistic expression as something that does not admit criticism, censorship, any corset, any limits, or even appreciation or depreciation.

Much work is done to give a shape to emotions. There’s the world of emotions and then, how can we give it shape or meaning?

There are times that I like to write more beautifully or carefully, others like this time, I simply try to transmit what the germ behind the creation is.

As the title says, yes! certainly the spiderweb is full of dew, but the main area of ​​the spiderweb covers the head of the woman, it is centred in her mind. It could remind us like being trapped in a huge spider web, but in this case the mind is the one trapped, nothing more.

Going around the same things, thinking the same things over and over again, suffering with the same disappointments over and over again ...

We get entangled in a spiderweb, just as a hamster spins and spins on his wheel without stopping, constantly turning over the same things, being unable to stop.

Maybe this artwork invites us to know how to get out of that spiderweb, which oppresses us and gets us hooked.

Clearing our minds. Therefore, even the dew drops themselves are quite symbolic. They are the symbol of freshness, of renewal.

(…) The forest is still; its beauty hurts as always to the deepest. Silence reigns, which lets the little drops that the fog brings, freely sing. It's very cold, but even in the sturdiness of that same cold, the woman noticed the spiderweb, and realized how irremediably she felt forced to look through it, through its threads ... she couldn’t perceive cleanly.

Dew painted the world as it was, revealed its secrets. Dew drops painted the hidden spider web, deeply hidden in the mind.

Days will pass, the woman will pass by ... but there will remain the beautiful and wise forest, which keeps and reveals all its secrets.

The brook dives its way with passion among the rocks, impetuous, joyful and very brave. Silver sparkles shine in the curls of its waters, which run and run, wild towards the sea.

The riot of water attracts the attention of the woman, who stops next to its side to rest and look at carefully. Splashes of water refresh her skin and alert her senses, a little dazed.

Should not the brook be less impetuous and arrogant? the woman asks herself, because in the end she knows that no matter how much noise its waters can make, they will all finally flow into the open sea.

So, half asleep, she glimpses in her reverie that stunning watery plain, calm and extensive surface, which is the sea.

That way immersed in these thoughts; she spends her hours in the afternoon. So beautiful life.

That morning, she walked among the ripe fruits, ready to be picked up after a time of effort ... in making them grow, in taking care of them and everything necessary to see them flourish and prosper, all her illusions reflected in those fruits.

With dedication, there is always a final reward. The beautiful and grateful fruits grow profusely everywhere, crowded among the branches, in graceful bouquets, even shine like stars in a peculiar sky.

She prepares herself to collect the fruits, when she’s feeling a cold air that sneaks between the branches and it passes by rubbing her neck, wrapping disgustingly her body. These small breaths of air give her the chills, they put her on alert ... what’s happening?  - “There’s something strange around me, because I should not feel this way. I do not expect this cold air entering my paradise of ripe fruits”-.

Restless, the woman continues with her task, but she cannot ignore that strange feeling, which leads her to look around and look for the reason, look for an explanation ... she does not know what to say, what to think, she does not know the reason for feeling so uncomfortable and bad, but this way she was feeling.

And those little blows sneaked everywhere, they were around her ears, they run down her neck, and they played spinning in her arms.

She did not feel any warmth or shelter. Looking around suddenly she realized.

Everything is stripped of leaves, they are branches without any leaves, they’re leafless trees. Nothing can be found that shelters the ripe fruits, nor protects them, nor cares for them.

Stunned, she looked from one side to another, but ... there, it was! the reason for the chilly air that sneaked in, and cooled her garden, put her fruits at risk, put her work and all her effort in danger.

“Leafless”; there were no leaves around and all the lemons were hanging like stars in that strange sky. Leafless, with no shelter, without anything that protected all the efforts.

Where are the leaves that should be on the tree? Where are those who are supposed to watch over the lemons, over the efforts? sheltering them!

There was nothing, there was nobody.

In decisive moments in life, we see ourselves without any leaf ... but hope and happy end will always succeed: fruits grown and work done are still there, next to us, being something that nothing, nor anyone can take away from us.

Spellbound, I think I'm living the most beautiful time of my life. I would not go back, neither when I was a child, nor afterwards as a student with the uncertainty of what my life would be or what I would become ... I stay in my present, with my certainties, half my path walked and enjoying every moment.

As a little dreamer, we can dream more even now than when we were children, because the experience is much greater.

Spellbound, enchanted by good things in life, by love, the love of others. Oh, love!

Glad and peaceful, resting among ears of grain ... these ears are my cradle, my refuge. Nature as my home, Earth as my place. It is easy not to feel identified with anything, or anyone ... easier to be part of the landscape, always beautiful, silent and welcoming of all.

My cradle is Earth, smells, sounds and colours. Definitely I belong to nowhere!

Never again will be as in the beginning, all were discoveries, adrenaline and bubbles of illusion ... time led to a difficult time, ups and downs, great ups and downs bathed in suffering. What is left now? now there’s the "sweetness of the present", the goodness of the known, the certainty of love, the well-deserved rest for the warrior after many battles.

With what do I remain? always with the present and wishing the best, time passes ... without being able to stop it.

Not act. Be.

If we pause for a moment to think and realize the state of mind that we have managed to achieve, create helped by our own experiences, failures, joys, disappointments ... we would realize that this sort of maturity or fulfilment is more than enough to be happy. We often spend our time trying to attract attention or just to please people who simply do not care about or are not meant to be in our life. It's a waste of time.

Appreciation, love, affection towards us and the ones we give and share with others, are neither asked nor sought. Just happens naturally.

If people do not appreciate us, it is a sign that we are going in a different way, we are living in a different reality. Neither better nor worse. Everything that comes and is given in a natural way, without any artifice, or any effort ... welcome! Could be the only truth!.

"What talks to us in people, when they do not use words…"

Could be precisely that knowledge, which to my opinion, makes a portrait outstanding and artistic. Kinesics, the language of the body, would imply to capture a moment, a sensation, a gesture, a sigh, an anguish ... everything that portrayed people do not talk about, but their body reflects or communicates to us. Maybe there, could be found the magic of a portrait and what makes it valuable in time because it acquires some kind of “universality” and recognition or empathy in everyone who looks at it.

After acquiring a good technique, to some extent, it only remains the more important thing: “to learn to look at”, to have the patience to observe. Know how to embrace and contemplate moments. And it's not easy, but it's always worth trying.

That afternoon, she took a break after having been practicing her juggling, with three common oranges, it was enough to learn balance, order, ideal moment, turn, change and precision, tension and .... a thousand things that this juggling had taught her. It would be tremendous and unthinkable to see one of them fall to the ground, one of those tasty oranges, she was not going to allow it. The light that was filtering inside that afternoon was going away little by little, as time went away, faithful reflection of her fatigue.

She liked to spend minutes absorbed, distracted in her thoughts. Juggling is like life itself, you have to go practicing very often with everyone: that is, “ how should I do ?, how should I say ?, what word did I say wrong ?, at what point did I accidentally spoil it ?, Is it the right time ?, I had to ask for forgiveness and didn't I realize ?, Ugh!”.  Those are human relations, if you simply analyse them, you have to juggle every time, or if you simply dedicate yourself to live, you’re destined to live and manage in a jungle; there are no rules, they change daily and ... for a mind like hers, it was a chaos!, a true reflection of the tension playing with the oranges ... and let's start ... and play again. Thus, it is life and people. A juggling.

When it came the moment that I had to look at the portrait to give it a name, a title that could identify it ... I did not know very well, because even being the portrayed person myself and knowing my feelings, I looked at it and I did not know very well helped by the expression what I was really feeling: happiness, weariness, even disgust?. I could not tell. I kept looking around to see if there was any powerful detail that suggested another possible title and I could not find it, rather it was diffuse.

Without any doubt, the centre is the expression and the look. No, it’s not that smile that some may think, is it a smile ?, hence ... its title. These expressions are simply given by life, by experience, by the passage of time. Certainly, you can not put a similar countenance being in your twenties, even in your thirties etc. It’s the air that remains after comprehending the world as it is, people as they are, with their true faces. And yet, I like this artwork and the time spent working in it.

Thinking a bit about hindsight in my life ... yes, I was always attracted to literature, reading and writing. As an anecdote I liked writing more in English or French than in Spanish. I found it more challenging to build a beautiful structure, where everything will fit and will faithfully reflect my thinking. A different sensitivity introduced to a language that is not its own or even known before. There're writers who are the greatest exponents of literature, in languages that are not their mother tongue, like Joseph Conrad; he was my best ideal for many years, to encourage us to always do what we like, despite difficulty in trying. Yes, as he wrote a... "Heart of darkness," so I go many times.

"Life is beautiful for everyone" we just have to feel it with our hearts and look with different eyes; It’s not just for a few.

Soft, beautiful and appeased spring has arrived... "Spring Breeze"

“Con spirito, sempre”

Guitar can be held in an execution pose, which is what most people decide to use, where they try to place the most complicated chord possible or ... it can simply be embraced as an object of appreciation and affection, as a companion. That has been my choice, presenting the two protagonists side by side. This guitar does not exist in reality, it was born with the magic of photography, it is "photo-made", beyond diaphragms, apertures, photometers and other paraphernalia, it was born from "the amazing craft of photography", creating it piece by piece, to make it as beautiful as it is. I'm not saying that it has more merit than if it had been photographed directly from reality, but it does have a lot more work, because the instrument starts from scratch and is a big challenge.

Its origins are based and inspired by old classic argentine guitars.

While looking at the fog, the water vapor that moved crazily everywhere, I felt that this was a very special moment. I was cold, felt vertigo, but at the same time I felt that I was in a moment of life, which was like "having everything fulfilled", one of satisfaction.

The notes came even with my ragged breath and, on the toes and their tension, can be guessed the precipice that there is, yes! There’s certainly a precipice, where in the end, I threw all my sorrows, disappointments and so on.

There in the cold and the fog and the notes, I felt that I did not care about what was left behind on the past. As no longer apathy, indifference and all the bad that others project in us, can affect in a significant way.

How many times have I encountered stones on the road! And what do they matter to me? There, thought from the perspective of fog and height, nothing really matters. They do not affect.

Many people stay strictly in photography, but there is much more ... for me, I care about image and I care about what’s being felt ... being those notes that came out of the pumpkin, one after the other, in the silence ... as intruders in a forest with its owners.

That silence, those notes, that fog ... have more strength in my heart than the image standing alone. I always trespass an image, with a text, a feeling, a memory, something shared ...

Now, with practically everything fulfilled ... what do I care about anything? I care nothing.

It could be the vision of a dream, at first a romantic vision in the heights looking at clouds stolidly, vision with its dose of drama, of emptiness in front of the face of immensity. What could be done in front of so much emptiness and without any meaning ?, the castle stands for the perfect home, our own and fruit of many efforts. From romanticism, the theme passes to the ethereal, everything without materializing. A dream of clouds, a realm of clouds.
Those who do not know the places where I was born, will not identify at first glance the image of the castle, which is a very emblematic and well-known construction.
This artwork, it took all my effort in the compositional part, which was a real puzzle for me. How to go from the idea thought to translate it into something visual.
It was an effort for me, that absorbed my part destined to narrate, so this time I leave to the imagination of each one.
It is pleasant to use an emblem or symbol to remember, that everything is part of a common history and the present of all, not of a few. No one can appropriate anything by putting it as their flag. Symbols are important because they bind many people to a "common" bond.

For me, this artwork is an example of the tenacity of striving to capture an idea and be able to materialize it. That was my experience.

Just "bumped off", but she's free in the tallying song of her soul... "Apiolada", this is how the thread of society weaves its social fabric rules, how it's judging and recomposing its members, creating an interwoven skein. "Apiolada" with the blood burning in her fingers, oh! I really like this word. As a good philologist, I know that there should be no prejudices in the language, there's nothing right or wrong, just appropriate or inappropriate. Words are neutral, some are not better articulated, nor created with more beauty than others. It's not true. However, "apiolada" seems like a sublime combination, full of purity. Without conveying at all its meaning.

Who has not built a toy train, being a child? The sections of railway,  some of them straight and others curvy, creating together a somehow beautiful ellipse. Society is like a train that goes around its railway again and again, crazy, with utmost bravery and always concerned about the same aspects, without realizing that in each curve returns to its dejà-vu way, without any expectations of being able to go further, to transit through other views not before traveled, forgotten or despised. All the scenes of life, trackless seas.

If you do not get on that train, full of people, you're meaningless. One could be a fallen tree during a storm that immediately gets out of the railway. One could even be a naughty rotten because of humidity, which is not wanted. Or an inappropriate and annoying landslide. The haughty social train turns and turns, on itself, enraptured in its gears, undulating round its narrow world, believing itself boastly arriving in the only way of the truth.

Finally, but most important, it does not know the train, which can also be… derailed, with both purpose and pep.

Determined and defiant, with pure deliberate eyes, she sits in the pathway of the rocks, as the actual owner of them and without any chain, any sacrifice, nor anyone who can control the destiny of her life. That rock that should serve to hold her, bounded and waiting for horrors of demons ... It serves as a sure entwinding place to sweeten her dreams. In the footsteps  of the light breeze, which moves her dress and the skirt is also moved to caprice by the air. All reminds us of wings of freedom: a place where world and sky are one.

The chain only passes by, without crossing her path, leaving her alone and she does not feel fear, even she sees that long chain golden and beautiful. Without bounds, happy, watching the glittering waves, in front of a golden sea. She could be the reflection of the woman of today, who has conquered many obstacles, call her brave!. The one that has in her hands the rudder of her life, of her desire. 

Victorious view, fully at rest, as a flash of our souls. She was always surrounded by the best. She was, is and will be ... Nothing can make a chain to change her life, the life of a modern Andromeda.

I was working on this portrait and I simply titled it ... LAURA
It is still a sum of colors, lights, textures and mood used in my photography.

Beautiful way to start this year.

As I announced in my introduction to this new gallery of artistic works of 2019, the emphasis will be placed on finding meaning in each artwork done, finding a reason for being, which could be the foundation of my artwork.
The clear symbol of an abandoned nest, represents the recurrent idea in my life of a feeling of abandonment. Could be surrounded by people, but at the same time, not to feel any special affection or attachment towards me, to feel abandoned.
Maybe because these are cycles of life, "everything comes, everything goes". How birds are born and then leave their nest, when the time comes.
The peremptory and irremediably ephemeral nature of everything, including life and relations.
Everyone comes and goes, being part of that life cycle and leaving behind an abandoned path, a place to not return anymore.
Great hope remains in the eyes of the woman, mirrowed in the gesture of her hands and the possible wayout to that open sky offered in front of us. Sky, distance… rendered as a relief. And the nest will be abandoned, again and again, cyclically …
Why is not she also swallowed in that recurrent cycle? So that she also comes and goes. Why does not she stop being a mere spectator?.