Strolling through a field, bumping into a shell and see the sea in a puddle.
Walnut shells from my grandfather’s breakfast that become unsinkable hulls. I’m ready to sail into the sea of the ages of the pliocene…
A sea narrated by our grandparents, a sea of a time far far away. A sea that made us dream and see plants underwater and the hills becoming waves.
Here, silent and lone, she swam on the seabed, caressing with her belly the same earth of sand and clay where I spend my days today.
She moved slowly and calmly in that remote nature of which she was the custodian. In a flawless, resistant, and peaceful equilibrium which I still feel in the fruits of my work. Just like her, quiet and attentive, I try to faithfully preserve the ancient traditions, preserving the legacy of the past while following the rhythms of nature.
She was the Whale, a road that led me to the only possible place: mine.
