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Nadie sabe cuándo muere. De la misma manera que es imposible saber el momento exacto en que se pasa de la vigilia al sueño. Es sólo cuando la consciencia se siente en un entorno de donde no cabe el retorno, que empieza a comprender con asombro que la muerte acaeció.
I got printed the cold light of a March morning in the high land of Castile. Here is a proper way for an artist to say that he was born in a village. Spain, province of Soria; have you ever heard of this ?.
I lived there for a few years. Then, followoging life´s whimsical will I finally landed in Madrid. In this city have I my present and, hopefully, definitive abode.
As an artist I haven´t gone through any particular, or academical learning. I mean, to the point to get...
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