Allegories Of An Intimacy And My Sleeplessness

_Melancholies come to me to turn them into passion. Color sensitizes my system. The spatula is my sword, my shield is the color and my inspiration is you. The night becomes my day, and the day is my torture. It is my ritual…my religion. In this city where there’s no sky, and what has not turned grey yet, will be soon, I battle. I work color, light and awareness. I feel free. Nature, religion, love, sex and life dominate my synthesis. With this body of work, I toy with human psyches, with reference to the imagery’s invocation, captured through lived life. The spectator’s past experiences confront the colors in each piece and interact on a very personal plane. The titles of the work create an uncertainty, leaving outsiders wanting to know more, questioning their own senses while transforming the work into a representative image of their existentialism._

Experimenting with metaphorical bohemian intimacy, I reveal myself to my muse. I become an ally of her sentence, protector of her emotions. I become reason for her feelings and companion of her pleasures. In one form or another, she dominates my aura. Images come and colors go to a place that becomes smaller as time passes, thoughts of color, meditated color. I am heard by my surroundings, we become one in each encounter. I analyze myself and become consciousness. On a stony route, I walk barefoot. I sacrifice my dawn to create my allegories, my nocturnal world, my strange destiny, but I am appreciating my legacy. Knowing the matter, I self- medicate, thinking of my fears as my days become smoke and my nights a glorification. A burial silence watches me and lets me see my inner child, which loves you, lets you sleep, protects and kisses you. You travel inside of me every night like indomitable beast, filling the empty spaces of my core and helping me exist in an uncertain world, full of theories. At night, I hallucinate your presence. Letting me live the dream of having you, I die. In my nocturnal ritual, I belong to you. We become one and while the night leaves me, you stay with me. I ask myself, why does this angel cling to me? Why does she love me? Why does she illuminate me? Out of breath when thinking about you, my fears disappear when I feel you close; your voice makes me smile and your air gives me life. In this passion where time passes and I don’t feel the ticking of the clock, where I am victim of time and traitor of my rest, at the moment when my muse sleeps, I keep myself awake in her honor and I give her my other self.