My older brother died of epilepsy when he was 21 years old. He painted and drew like angels, he did the painting career all with honors. I was 7 years old and everyone said that I would paint like him. No, I couldn't. The smell of oil made me sad, he was the painter and I couldn't replace him. I always looked for other ways to express and investigate with the arts. I was thinking of a global art where everything was possible.
Today on my birthday I finish this piece made in the same passage that I walked with him. I don't want to provoke any epileptic attack with the flicker. I look for his gaze that beats, transforms and convulses the landscape of my path.
I paint the road with strokes time of a unconscious memory.