I lived in a house
with two real windows and the other two painted on the facade.
Those painted windows were my first pain. I felt the hallway walls trying to find the windows inside.
I spent all my childhood with the desire to look out to see what was seen from those windows that did not exist.
Confinement diaries arises from these gray days that March brought us with spring. It arises from hope at sunset. The days were getting longer already.
When the balconies came alive and they could see, hear and breathe.
When under the clamor of applause you could still hear some small moan tangled between the branches.
When, irremediably, we realized that, as the Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu said, “without looking out the window you can see the paths of heaven. The further you go, the less you learn. ”
Confinement diaries is the portrait of many. The mine.