On one occasion a friend asked me why my work was all red. I replied that all was not red, it was also blue and other colors were only approximations to red or blue. Depending on the distance, acquired a shade or another.
is, the color (it should be qualified: my colors) are as they are depending on the distance, like a period is defined by its position relative to another, or the space-time coordinates are generated according to the motion of matter, as a child's finger pressing the dough.
do not know if my friend understood me, but I was seized by a desire to grasp the unusual red and keep it to myself in my pocket. The important things always carries a pocket.
This essay (which has more of a scientific story) is an attempt to glimpse inside the red wax that used obsessively as a child in my drawings and so seen, I have not heard rid of it.
The Red Red is a glass, and could also be a door.
A glass that is worn on the hand from side to side of the house, and even when it comes out, because it may rain outside and inside is always necessary to drink.
The glass is in contact with the lips, the kisses and the light that expands the glass. The cup is offered to the newcomer or, conversely, is removed from the table.
If the glass breaks, the red spreads in all directions like a spider web spotted wine.
Red is a wish.
The desire to open a door without a will and without notice.
A door is always hiding. When land trembling and hesitant steps, the safest place is under the lintel of a door, the door opened desire. If the door
finds its reflection, is doubled. Then the desire becomes the primal form of a labyrinth and the only way is to follow the path guided by the red line.
Red is the footprint.
footprints left by my feet in the darkness of the night but at dawn blush come to the prying eyes of outsiders.
The trail always persists and gets naked in the sun of memory, though shivering with cold because in the real world the soul is ten degrees below zero or, conversely, sweat blurred its outline because this heat is stifling.
still do not know - there so many things that I have left to learn! - if the track is track before being red or red footprint takes shape.
The red in the eye
One morning I woke up with the strange sensation of being naked. When I looked in the mirror I was shocked: the cornea of \u200b\u200bmy left eye looked red, smooth and bright as an egg white. The color seduced me, it looked like someone illuminated from the bottom with a red flashlight.
That day I traveled by plane under the pressure of having had a little lie.
On the way from the top I discovered that color is a necessary invention.
Maybe the red is in my eye or, perhaps, my eyes can not see another color.
Marlo (flying)
is, the color (it should be qualified: my colors) are as they are depending on the distance, like a period is defined by its position relative to another, or the space-time coordinates are generated according to the motion of matter, as a child's finger pressing the dough.
do not know if my friend understood me, but I was seized by a desire to grasp the unusual red and keep it to myself in my pocket. The important things always carries a pocket.
This essay (which has more of a scientific story) is an attempt to glimpse inside the red wax that used obsessively as a child in my drawings and so seen, I have not heard rid of it.
The Red Red is a glass, and could also be a door.
A glass that is worn on the hand from side to side of the house, and even when it comes out, because it may rain outside and inside is always necessary to drink.
The glass is in contact with the lips, the kisses and the light that expands the glass. The cup is offered to the newcomer or, conversely, is removed from the table.
If the glass breaks, the red spreads in all directions like a spider web spotted wine.
Red is a wish.
The desire to open a door without a will and without notice.
A door is always hiding. When land trembling and hesitant steps, the safest place is under the lintel of a door, the door opened desire. If the door
finds its reflection, is doubled. Then the desire becomes the primal form of a labyrinth and the only way is to follow the path guided by the red line.
Red is the footprint.
footprints left by my feet in the darkness of the night but at dawn blush come to the prying eyes of outsiders.
The trail always persists and gets naked in the sun of memory, though shivering with cold because in the real world the soul is ten degrees below zero or, conversely, sweat blurred its outline because this heat is stifling.
still do not know - there so many things that I have left to learn! - if the track is track before being red or red footprint takes shape.
The red in the eye
One morning I woke up with the strange sensation of being naked. When I looked in the mirror I was shocked: the cornea of \u200b\u200bmy left eye looked red, smooth and bright as an egg white. The color seduced me, it looked like someone illuminated from the bottom with a red flashlight.
That day I traveled by plane under the pressure of having had a little lie.
On the way from the top I discovered that color is a necessary invention.
Maybe the red is in my eye or, perhaps, my eyes can not see another color.
Marlo (flying)
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