Clay

The desert guards the loneliness, the desert numbs the calloused hands of the nomadic people deep in the landscape of the great centers of avant-garde and colors, the desert abnegates great pretensions to disaggregate the union of collectivity, but guard the flat view in beautiful landscapes of mirage, The heat feeds give of the days that pass in storms of sand. The desert of human immensity, the aridity of desires and dreams, the fertile invalidity of the land, great survivors and wolves live in the desert, there is life in the sand no matter how much our imagination tirelessly denies about some possibility and certainty of life in such an improbable place.

There are lives that are born in the sand, there are lives that live from the heat, there are lives that plunge and drag in the drought, there is life everywhere, anyway, why life is a mystery daydream and we are only hermits, We sprout and plunge into the sand to traverse and survive our sandy daily days, to dig up ideas from the sand, to use the resources of the earth for all the purposes of our sandy and inconstant ideas, to transform the deserts of boredom, the deserts of Earth in great monuments of human capacity, in great urban centers, in big concrete dreams, to use the concrete of the stone that was once land.

Dreams are sands in concrete forms, the clay that shaped men and shapes their constructions, clay is the instrument that God used to shape human beings and their dreams, finally everything is a work of art made of earth, the planet called Earth.