Worlds, when not gathered in poems, are useless. It is not that I haven’t thought, shaped or draws words, but they haven’t gone from my senses to my heart, neither from my mind to my soul and then, weren’t worth to be shared.

The time, I thought, was making a mockery of the spiritual, with abuse of use and manipulation. I put all my words away until they regenerate.

Above all, I was rebuilding, literally and figuratively, my childhood cave: My imagination shelter, where it materializes in a silence, innocent of the world rumors and History. The lair of withdrawal, but also of encounters and inner journey that continue in reality, I, consequently, traveled. From those multiples retreat, I have sent you virtual and silent postcards, to be sure I wasn’t forgetting you and was not forgotten either.

A year has passed, my new studio’s walls are dry. It is in the deepest of winter that I return, to plant the sprouts, to repot the projects that needed more space, to grow all that can be from cutting for discovering their surprises.

I extract myself from silence, looking for renaissance and continuity glimmers. Still numb, curious as I have been during this long renewal.

I wish you the recognition of your splits through which the light shows in shadows and Marvels.

Take good care of your light.

Recherches pour le projet chambre d’échos