Roughly translated to “the feeling of being lost in the woods”. The dissonance between active and ideal states overwhelms perception. Truth does not exempt us from the principles of our own design, panicked by the sound of a closing door unconscious of our walk in the wind.

What is the nature of human feeling, of an apparently unstructured mess, of beauty in imperfection, of what inspires us in that pause between days but makes us wake up in the mornings?

The unbelievable ability of our species to be amazed with itself since it believed to have made the night disappear has robbed us of perspective creating a disconnect between the delusion of purpose and the reality of our irrelevance. The objective of my work is to board this profound realization through innocence.

Ever since I have had use of memory I’ve known the texture of the trees and the sound of all the leaves in this forest that sporadically captures some, of which I am a permanent resident who through this medium sends some post cards.”

mafloku no. veinticinco

mafloku no. veinte

mafloku no. veinticuatro

mafloku no. diecinueve

mafloku no. dieciseis

mafloku no. trece

mafloku no. ocho

mafloku no. once

mafloku no. veintiuno

mafloku no. quince

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