Notes on the Abyss

    Ho Chi Minh Nights ( diptych )-  acrylic on canvas, 30x30cm,  2023 Let nothing pass you by, transcribe everything of this day: the smell of the coffee has to be the same as yesterday, remember cheap coffee, honest, from an electric coffee machine and also tell them about that girl and that you saw her panties on the escalator, and don't forget the platform and the harsh smell of the night and the rock/roll in the headphones and the faces, the faces... Tell them also about the guy you saw lying on the ground last night, at dawn, coming back from work and why you didn't help him. Tell them about his face. Tell them about the fear of the taxi drivers, about the sweat... tell them about the soot, about the ad men, about the lost shoes in the drains, on the sidewalks, [on the telephone wiring... Show them the underground tunnels  that make it all make real sense. -----------------------------------------//  Orignal  version below // No dejes pasar nada, transcribe todo de este d

     * No title  -  acrylic on canvas, 30x30cm,  2023 I saw you sitting there every evening I saw you scrutinizing the shapes of things, the sky, dirty, grey, grimacing ugly, the people walking elsewhere, the sad, dull buildings, the ochre paint. Blending in with the grime the half-closed windows and the neglected gardens, the barren leaf litter, your cigarettes, the automatic sprinkler as a farewell when you enlisted the night and  locked everything up. You were so beautiful with your winter make-up so exotic for this month of August, so impossible and yet underneath the elusive and aged look that we all get after a few months here in Madrid, under the cornices,                   [so far from the Gran Vía, smoking one of your menthol cigarettes under the sky                                                                                         [dirty that the only thing I could think of was whether the next day you'd be there, on the other side of my window, that overlooked your