Nymphs

Looking through the pages of an old photo album, I have found these. Pictures of a future that frightens us but, at the same time, it is coming straight to us through our acts. The world is moving forward. The world is meeting dead ends but is passing over them. I try to describe these pictures which are nothing more than your eternal fight with your own self. The nymphs are vague forms of your nature, concrete personalities, creations of a morbid imagination, oddities that have lived in the verdurous riverbeds, silent existences that will live again between tones of cement, metal ang glass. Nymphs are finally a living piece in the soul of each one of us, a trace of innocence that remains under hibernation.