A window, a picture window, a little window where the sky and the rain appear, and even a brick that is missing on the wall. A tiny hole where a ray of sunshine goes in. Everything and anything can be window. With glasses, curtains, cardboards, shades but above all, eyes, tiny eyes and gazes that really see.
When a boy or a girl opens a window, when an artist leans out, a miracle can happen. Wise men say that when we let the world in, each one of us is amazed by the outside, but actually, the outside is already inside yourself. Lost in thoughts, withdrawn, by the landscape and because some self-images and memories run into this contemplation, the sparkles of memories never fade away.
The eyes see what it can be seen and what it cannot be seen. When a window is stretching out the air comes in, the scent of life, but not of any life, the life we live together, the known and unknown. It lets in or out what we were and what we are, and what’s more important, what we will be. But no one is going to be the same one anymore. There are windows similar to dreams, windows that without even knowing are mirrors and nonsense, ridiculous worries.
What happens to what is going on with us? Nothing does but what we call reality.
Absence goes by, fantasy goes by, what is beyond fear goes by and what is beyond being alone happens.
A lady goes by
dressed up as a spy.
A man wearing a face mask
goes by with his son holding hands.
A man goes by
looking for flowers in the cards.
A delivery boy goes by
I wonder if he is freer now.
My mom goes by with my brother
and we smile and wave to each other.
Houses fly by the window
because the magic continues.
An old man goes by with his cart
and we have a little chat
Autumn sky goes by
and neither of us likes bows and ties.
Fear goes by, very busy
with his face all chilly.
Things go by that are funny
like the breeze and the puppies.
Starry night goes by
and we act like we don’t mind...
We talk from window to window and we sing songs that only the birds listen. We say hello with a hat as a passing hug. Windows travel everywhere, by land and overseas, giving the afternoon greetings.
As they were born with secrets, they whisper there is no inside or outside and that the walls shelter but do not imprison if we let them breathe in quarantine.
Stay at home because of the coronavirus pandemic, but don’t you ever forget your dreams. Never forget that the street is ours and by walking we can reach the river and the the infinite sea that is always expecting us while playing to the eternity with the shooting stars.
The house keeps us warm in the fall and food smells in the kitchen. Schools talk in television and time is a rush of presents, games and boredom, it is loneliness and questions.
But, what happens when things are happening to us by only opening a window?
The virus will pass
Fear and isolation will pass
looking towards the sky.
Miss Opportunity will pass
asking for a change of time.
Childhood will pass very slowly
growing little by little, without worries.
So, open the window and tell me what you see, what you heart sees. And in that moment tell the world that you stole this for you, now paint it, photograph it, change it, hug it, imagine it, distort it, because it’s yours, you musical babies, brave kids, young tribal collectivists, artists in all shapes and sizes, those who can make invisible things and invisible people appear...
And everything seems to be what it is, it is what it is, but also what it isn't. It is more than what it is, and something else than what it is.
You are welcome to make your works and drawings become better than those things that happen once in a while when inequality appears. To let those paintings and designs to be much more powerful than any illness.
From the heart,