Sitting down, with your feet on the ground, wait without impatience,
eager and confident that this will end.
His person is observed from a lower plane, which the
we see we feel its superiority. Our land is
sunken and from her appears imperturbable, in
His hands cling to the brushes, his true and
half real to manifest his unaltered thought, his
feel, despite being gripped by the heavy chain
They have covered their eyes, their voice and hands are limited
to manifest freely, a padlock secures it, closed by hand
someone who could not open yet.
In spite of everything, his palette, which is the carrier of all
the colors with which his work speaks, has kept
always the open space to that true freedom that
all considered as a standard of a new and
coveted adventure, high-flying, that some left perish.
Hers does flies and does move, messenger of truth.
He has not been fooled by the comfortable life, he has not
lost his hope that the vast majority recognize
that call and make it own.
MONCHOLC, until today. P. 92.