Why so much pride, the Dionysian dance keeps us awake forever.

Here, after a brief sleep, we continue to live and death will be the one to die. It is the narrative of crowded dinners and receptions that, like a memory, lose plasticity. The figures become only outlines, crossed by light and adding up as they are looked at in transparency. In the center begins the ritual flagellation of the young woman that goes beyond the dance and the consumption of wine, expressions of Dionysian ecstasy, and one sees the transformation.

The girl’s legs deform, beginning to breathe lava. Everything remains sealed and welcomed by the enormous eye of time, the color of the moon and cold as absence.