White snow, grey ice / on cracked earth / like a patched blanket. /
There is a city on a bend in the road, / clouds are floating above the city / hiding the light of heaven. /
There is yellow smoke over the city, / the city is two thousand years old, / lived under the light of a Star/
We have seen a dying eye searching for something and we will be working on drawings for a joint publication. Ignacio is my friend and we share an obsession for drawing. We met this summer at a boarding house and soon weighed up the idea of working together. Affection. Laughter. Tension. Drawing is to unwind, it releases tension and also emits coordinates that are limits. There is life in drawings. The head is slower than the hand, the hand has fewer problems. But the hand shakes, and the voice also shakes, and writing was shaky before it stopped being handwritten. Our heads wrote stories, read them and believed them.
For two thousand years there was war, / war for no particular reason. / War is a matter for young people,/ a remedy against wrinkles.
Are visions your area and psychedelia mine? Psycho-what? Shapes which even in their state of disintegration have to be defined. Between the two of us, creating an agreed upon fiction in accordance with historical logic is the plan or, to put it another way, we will find the edge from which the fiction is sparked or precipitated from each side. The way of sublimating the fiction or trying to. Perhaps this occurs only at the margins of subjectivity, when one fiction meets another and they converse, or when one subjectivity meets another and they are cancelled out as such. Although we do not propose cancelling each other out but joining forces.
Deep red blood, / after one hour is only earth, / after two there are flowers and grass, /
after three there is life again / and it is warmed by the rays of a Star / called Sun.
The stories are coherent, the illustrations complement them. We do not do illustrations, I think in this mode of coherence. In this mode of disobedience. A posture. To prepare something coherent is simple; it is a matter of syntax; even tangential stories are. These exercises are limitations, conditions, gestures which lead to sabotage and masturbation, cranes, crows and sparrows. The conditions that I impose clash with yours. This type of dialogue: normally discussion. Make yourself nervous, feel uncomfortable. Argue these conditions and these gestures, go further. Having said this, our edges have the form of a story. Back to the topic.
And we know that it has always been like this, / that destiny loves more / those who live according to the laws of others / and those who die young.
Ignacio said something like this to me: "It's easy, you just have to think about how the image will be, then fill in the details: how will the napkin sit on the table, what will they eat, what will they drink, what will they read, what will they listen to, how will they brush their hair, what are their pens and books like, what are these buildings like and how will the sun produce light. How much dirt, how much pollution, how much hope". Because this exercise is easy for Ignacio, he rocks at it. He says: "All of these aspects give credibility to the image, this is how we believe what we see, the details make us believe, the details are the proof". And, well, I have a hard time acknowledging this but write it down ... I think he is right. I see that there is a breath of life in his drawings. Environment, sound, distant voices, dust, air. These aspects that only he can show by drawing; I certainly can't, at least not like that.
He doesn't remember the word "yes" or the word "no", / he doesn't remember either ranks or names / and he can reach the stars / without considering it a dream.
I broaden myself by drawing. Distance for Ignacio is more defined, but for me there is leeway. For example, I can add a silver coloured disease transmitted by beer cans to his story, because in the future there would only be cans. Transmitted by rats that defecate in warehouses, because rats always survive (he calls them vermin). It may be that the rats that we know would have mutated. He can add moments of lucidity or a bit of sarcasm to my story. The drawings will be smooth like his or stiff like mine. Or something completely new - there is the motivation.
And fall scorched by a Star / called Sun.
Song: Kino, “A Star Called Sun” (Звезда По Имени Солнце), 1988