Today, I saw faces, faces on paper, faces in silence, but I would hear them.
In their expression hope, in their expression what is lived, expressions of life, of that life that we may seldom consider, because it is sometimes better not to see.
Old men and women, tanned by the inexorable passing of time. In each face, a story; faces like written pages of memories, of shadows, of dawns, and, at the end, the question of what it was.
Sweet boys and girls, frightened, innocent and pure. In their simplicity the strength of what is to come and the abyss of what can be.
In each picture a piece of a soul, and instant of life, and memory without limit.
Art is what moves us, what shows us the beauty or ugliness of the world.
What reminds us of our smallness and limits us to feel.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to see with your eyes, with your memories, images of souls shaped on the paper that made me think and made me
feel the greatness that’s kept in faces.