In my disdain, I never imagined that one day I would go to the lands of others in search of cork oak barks, pieces of wood, curious branches and stones, blades of grass, dry leaves and bouquets of flowers -synecdoches of a landscape- to pile between my objects, between the pages of books, like precious souvenirs of my adventures as an urbanite.
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En el meu desdeny, mai vaig imaginar que un dia aniria a buscar llenques de suro, talls de fusta, branques i pedres curioses, fulles seques i poms de flors -sinècdoques d’un paisatge- que apilonar entre els meus objectes, entre les pàgines dels llibres, com cars souvenirs.
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