My Forest, Exhibition. Inks and words of love on old Portuguese love novel.
In the titanic breath of the Mistral, propelled by a wild desire, someone lit a grand bonfire of joy in my forest. It was sublime, noisy, and terribly threatening. Immense, dry, luminous, and evanescent gusts followed.
Then, the charred void settled in the forest. I came to listen to this stranger, I plunged in barefoot, touched the bark, anticipating a sign.
I have redrawn this sand forest on old forgotten books, hiding words of love between the pages.
