Sketch / Esbozo
No title - ink on paper and digital technique, 21x30cm, 2020 Two junkies sunbathing leaning against the window of a jewelry store -perfect synecdoche of this city- and pretty girls heeling their way down the stairs of the subway at nine in the morning zigzagging between Peruvians clutching their shadows. Crestfallen men of clay smearing of dirt to delicious busy women, sad men and freshly showered women, clean, goddesses. My troubles never have women's names anymore, they have the names of big companies electricity suppliers or gas providers. Women in the subway. The younger ones protect their red faces on the pages of political propaganda; it's not blushing it has nothing to do with fleeting and frightened glances they are just exhausted; it has nothing to do with sex, it's nine o'clock in the morning they're clean, but it's just water. There's hardly any time left for make-up or dreams. Raymond Chandler is dead, I hear them say and then the scr