This is an artist's book, a love story, a sad song, a painful sound, this is a cabinet of curiosities made of paper, ink, thread and blood. The book is silent, but it speaks and tells a beautiful story that no longer exists. From it comes music and poetry, but also a deafening sound, and it's not until you're totally stunned that you realize your heart has been broken into pieces and you've lost everything.
The images in this book are travel photographs, museum visits, forest walks, and anatomical illustrations. The text is a compilation of phrases, erratic behavior, recurring thoughts and adjectives with which I once built the idea of love.
“Sueño a veces con un amor lejano y vaporoso
como la esquizofrenia de un perfume.”
Emil Cioran