Aridity in my garden

Aridity in my garden

It’s the ironic exorcism of my weaknesses. It’s the total abandonment, the rendering to the "monsters that we have inside" that, absolutely undisturbed, take control of my body now in pieces and, like in an accident scene, under the blank look of the terrified mask of my face (threatened by set-squares that represent the rational thought), carry away what is left, as if they were dustmen at work.

The fact that I made the drawing during the convalescence from a luxation that has immobilized me for a month, and that this has happened on my return from a seven months trip of pure freedom, gave me the idea for some details that would suggest an impediment, a bother: the Achilles arrow in the leg in the foreground, mosquitoes and thorns on the left hand, a destroyed bicycle in the foreground, a crashed plane, a balloon blocked, a heavy boar on the belly, a leg tied back to the left side, an heart theft next to it, hung or abandoned guitars (like “harps from the branches of willows”), a numb penis stock in a tree, the end of myth, mystery, fantasy symbolized by a statue of the Easter Island threatened by a hammer.

Impediments and stoppages of the mind, shadows of existence, which at any level of being (carnal, spiritual, artistic) act as herbicides, repellent for which nothing is born, nothing alive, for which what remains is only a strong "Aridity in my garden".

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