CHANTS

To examine the image of this face, this look, there are fragments of raw stories, mineral lights, snatches of an endless dream ... The insistence clashes, until abstraction , To the decomposed time, to its chaos with the gleams of stone. From that face coming back, nothing was said. The look can not be deciphered. The illusion, even to the darkness, remains mute. Signs of an absent song.

The Crew

Barbara

Self