My heart feels like a stranger between my ribs. Time passes and days rot and my heart shrinks, but somehow your love only stretches through my body.
Farolito, que alumbras apenas mi calle disierta. Cuantas noches me has viste llorando llamar a su puerta??
I spent four hours that week in lectures about a goddamn statue. Naturally, I wanted to print a photograph of it, paint on it and rip it apart. What happened to studying art that comes from the soul? What happened to taking a moment and listening, feeling, breathing our surroundings? What happened to thinking about nature instead of placing objects inside it and writing fifteen page bullshit about it, enough for a four hour lecture…
The first image is the statue broken up. Its aura is nothing more than white, empty, meaningless. The second image is a letter I wrote with las letras of Farolito in Arabic, wrapped in masking tape I found in studio, between the lecture notes about the statue and the cancionero. The letter has flowers on top of it, because even with desperation, hay un farolito al fin de la calle, y este farolito va a alumbrar mi corazon.
ريم 