My sole source of relief to escape from the horrors of those days was imagining worlds and creating stories inside the light of the only candle I had. The shadows projected on the walls would turn into the shapes of the ever changing characters of my imagination, I can see my fingers weaving evanescent details which blended with the condensation and the cold.
That light shone on an outer space which was too small for a child. I had to create one to become internal, immense.
I hold my childhood and its dreams inside that small flame. I sealed the darkness I had inside with the wax, and with the wick I tied the memories of a life which was not going to be mine anymore.
My art unfolds around the narration of that light. My paintings are symbionts of the game of contrasting light and dark which narrate without revealing, which drain my inner feelings on the canvas preventing the shapes from becoming obstacles.