Sons of a
Lesser God


Purple scream. Disinterested and hot.
Beginning that had another principle and full past will succeed in beginnings to trample and claim, rejecting and pleading for a new future, parallel, old or even oblivious.
Hurting screm. Stunned and needy.
Unaware outbreak of Shell that shatters and regenerates, and stays there forever: to get to know from the outsider what only knows from the inside. Round shaped delicate egg, unbreakable that requires cautious care but sustains it all.
Bloody screm. Scared and menacing.
Fearless, fearing, not having what it feels because it doesn’t know if life is a curse or a gift. Waiting for the names, of things in mind, the way, the confort that was before being. A life that begins has to let go of a life that just died.
Pungent scream. Miracle or science?
Dream child of two Gods: the largest and the smallest. That in dispute to create a being in everything similar to both, enhanced on what was undermost and on the ultimate will, being hidden of the world they left in designed secrets and paths.

Theories of Nothing

This exhibition reflects some considerations on life- complex, ephemeral, hard, precarious, stingy, agressive, full of pressure and worries, no time left to live it. It is seen as a path, with a departure moment but interrupted by death, sometimes slow but always abrupt and with no possible arrival, since life will always be incomplete, no matter how much we want to fulfill it. In spite of being spoted by men, one can see it as beautiful and mysterious, fantastic, experential; after all, we can see it under na optimistic perspective, to find equilibrium and, then, value emotions and the feelings of the presente, since past and future do not exist. Value the space of departure, because when we divide we add and so we understand that the door is always opened and only gets closed when a cool breeze gives us a cold. If we consider this world na ullusion, in which everything happens as a dream, something thwt prentended to be because we werw sleeping, a subtle and deep indifference towards the faiths of life arises in us.
Suffering is right before our eyes, we feel it as a nightmares challenging us, and against them we wear a cotton armour to try to live comfortably anchored upon the clouds. In this instante of Life we sleep, turned into the side we want (or can) and in our dreams we feel existence, pulsation. Sometimes we should feel with the head, others with the heart.
Since we were we learn to know the world that we will never reach to know since time runs against us and neither science nor religion give us answers. As we try to learn we create (un)satisfying illusions, and a mutante vision on what we consider to be reality (our reality and the one that surrounds us). At the same time the others create a diferente image of us and vice-versa because what we see are mere masks.
What we see is not more than what we are, and ambivalente vews: Life/ death, physical/ emotional, real/ imaginary; complex/ simple, harmony/ unbalance, sadness/ joy; cruelty/ kindness, strength/ weakness, will always be in the search of something else than a “little hapiness”.
I show only a point of view in this story where we all are Sons of a Lesser God, without moralizing but living in harmony with my morality, my “small immoralities”, since sanity is a cozy lie… And since there are neither Indians nor cowboys, in case of doubt I am for the indians, and even if, (we can’t forcast) I wanted to create a fantastic tomorrow, I also now that the “tomorrow’s yeaterday is not today”, and at the end the story could never have a moral lesson to be learned.


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