Not the ephemeral profanity of the beauty. Not the imperfect and fallacious nature of sensory experience. This mirror shows you those feelings and those forebodings that are hidden in the innermost depths of your soul.
The landscapes are alien and alienating.
They are empty spaces.
They are crossed and pierced by the whisper of a remote wind.
Silence follows, beloved and inseparable companion.
Silence brings within itself the echo of a pale and faded memory.
An infinitesimal moment of suspension crystallized in a motionless eternity.
A feeling of unease settles in an indefinable point behind the thin line of the horizon.
We are at the center of this void and simultaneously nameless fragments dispersed therein.
Actors and privileged spectators in the presence of our own ghosts. Having the chance to stare them in the eye. Giving a name, giving a paternity to each of them. Investigating the origin and identity of each of our malaise.
This mirror reflects feelings, discomforts and thoughts. In their fullness and in their absolute vacuum. At the same way, they look in and through us. But the light does not always reveal the truth, the light does not always brings out the nature of things. the space is filled with falsehoods and impurities, which refract and distort the light, creating a mirage capable of deceiving the heart and the mind, giving us the feeling of seeing something real and tangible where, that something, does not exist. What is the name of this feeling? Illusion, perhaps. And illusion is all that you have in your hands.