A furnace sealed
The truth is, I’ve rarely done self-portraits, with everything they represent I mean, and do not talk about that nonsense of “unmasking oneself” which everyone ends up obsessing with. Many tend to associate authenticity with nudity, with removal of belongings. People do not recognize the truth as such when they see it. Because, in fact, I do just the opposite, try to stop being me, and lighten all useless burdens that one carries in one day in a week to get in front of a camera. I find that more sincere and less hollow.
In the end, I only take with me the treasures. These devices, those objects to which we cling, end up being ourselves in slightly different forms and essences, and unknowing them, is unknowing myself. Is to forsake the minimum of poetry, that makes bearable an existence.
I see more words, in objects, attires and veils, than the bodies themselves. For me, the first are decisions, devotions and passions. The body is just a vehicle of all this consciousness, unspeakable and unspoken. But this is still a series of memories, revived in flesh and bone … at least I’ve moved beyond the anguish of thinking is a cage.