DA CASA QUE JÁ NÃO EXISTE
The story of a piece of wood that hit the coast after many years at sea. He hit the shore on my beach so I made a mold out of it and blew glass. I filled this piece with sand from that beach and finally the shape and a bit of that place come together again, a place that used to be home and because of life or radom choises, is not any more. I'm now a sailor who doesn't belong anywhere, not even on his own boat. But some things have a home and they deserve to live in them.
Being under water
it is also a way of life,
better than life itself
better than the rough surface.
Under water there is innocence.
On land we are hunters,
under water we are trapped
Stuck with the little that we know
Blown glass, black sand and decal letters