When text is able to speak using the letters, lines and words as images is something as ambitious as the man who in the urge to show himself to the world gives up to nakedness of the body and embraces the exhibition of open muscles and tendons bathed in warm blood.
Poetry doesn’t have limits if the man, the writer is still able to be that child, or even that pervert, who everyday discovers the world and amazes on what he sees and witnesses.
Photography doesn’t have any limits if the man, the capturer is still able to open his eyes and see the world, becoming that child, or even that pervert, who everyday discovers the world and amazes on what he sees and witnesses.
Where is the inspiration? where is the originality? What are you doing?
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