They are the ones who speak their word of true heart, they are the Toltec artists, children of sorcerers. Shamans, those who cure the pains of day and night. These woodcuts speak the dance of the wound on the wood. Drawing of the eye, freedom of the hand, exploration of intuition, trip inside the being, round trip, suffering from time, dreams of the spirit, fan of mirrors, dreamlike outcrop of desire, passion and drive. Invitation to the abyss of scratching and ditching, crazy craving for the brand to leave. They are promise of travel to the village of distant destinations. It is a crossroads, meeting of the times of the soul poured in ink and paper. It never goes back to the original brand.
Constant paradox of drawing and brand, healing of emptiness, bonfire of virtual zen. Rite of black and white space. Engravings of the mysterious divination.Cabala of the marks and the signs. Send it and suspense the impermissible. These engravings are dance around the circle of fire saying goodbye to the birds out of the hands. They are performa of the human condition, and need to open inside, they are the purge of the flesh and thinking about it. These engravings are the place of the flying monkey Hanuman of the Bhagavad and the song of the Ramayana is the Hindu Mahabharata. They are the naked monkey in the cage of melancholy and the trip to the Mictlantecuhtli. Meditation of mutant cartography of desire. They are the periphery of the incomplete. They are fear and madness. They are mystical experience and night rooster song, they are yin and yang. They are the root and seed of my being, they are the chronicle of my freedom, the manifesto of my rebellion here on earth.