WHERE THERE´S NO TIME (by Dolores Delia)
Time doesn’t exist. Freedom as I think, doesn´t either.

The corral is on my mind. Freedom is an invention of the mind because we are always prisoners of something or someone else. Art is the seek of Freedom I constantly pursue. She owns me, and I own her shadow

An instant is made of various components that escape our eyes. Occasionally, we come across a place where our eyes and mind capture everything, where the clock’s needles go anticlockwise because time doesn’t exist. This thing happens rarely. Moments freeze on mi camera. They crumble in my mind and deploy in different artistic ways that sometimes I can only imagine them in my head.

Art needs inspiration. Inspiration is the everyday that gets stuck in our skin, like and invisible tattoo. Magic is in the skin, and the skin is like paper. It does not forget. Everything I put on paper is a register of the invisible world. Of this Freedom non-existent in its entirety, of the horses as a symbol of this Utopic Freedom, of time that goes by without me noticing it, of the marks that the outworld produces on me, of the colors I sense, the time I lost and regain every time I make art. Engravings start in my skin. Passions die in my head. Time chases me, and I chase Freedom. I breakdown moments to immortalize them.