Since he was eight years old, he has been obsessed with a secret constellation. He has carried out formal and informal studies whose knowledge has given him the structure to assume language as a workhorse, a magical pony, a unicorn that pierces and breaks stereotypes. Vicious of literature and smiling philosophy. As a child, he flew out of the house. They gave him, they are giving him and they will give him a lot of money but that never matters to him. He writes cheesy letters and makes conceptual obituaries. She has won several art awards and several angry girl skits. As a creative director, he prides himself on knowing the twists and turns of creativity, persuasion and consumer enjoyment. As a frustrated accountant, he knows how to count to ten without looking at his hands. As an art curator, you want to be a pineal gland and control the museum synapse. As a teacher, you know that it is better to encourage ignorance and smile. As an arts graduate, he senses that it is better to remain silent and be at the service of enjoyment and knowledge.

He really is a poor devil. A creature that cannot stand still. That he cannot sleep or cry. Here, the three of us sitting at the same table, fighting our hands to write, we laugh again and understand all the lexical, temporal, playful, cognitive and aesthetic possibilities that art offers; and that are some of your favorite words. As are chocolate, bread and fugue.