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  • My friend died with his adult son and daughter at his side. They stroked his hands and spoke sweet words to him. He cried and died. Then they washed and dressed him. He wore a beautiful white Mayan cotton shirt when I came to look at him. The floor of his room was covered with pine needles, another Mayan custom. The room was filled with flowers and sunlight.

    Beside him his daughter had put a photograph from 35 years ago: a young man, attractive, laughing with a bunch of long and unruly hair. Even before he fell sick I had never seen him as attractive. Now the corpse beside the photograph seemed to belong to a completely different person, a man, who had been consumed by alcohol, cigarettes and cancer.

    Even though his suffering had ended and he seemed peaceful and serene, once they had taken him for cremation and I returned home, a dark cloud covered my heart. I felt old and sick and blind and every minute a bit closer to my own demise. The following night panic attacks awoke me several times.

    I decided to see Teresa, who does acupuncture and Chinese medicine. She gave me a long massage and heated certain points of my body with burning Moxa. My mind floated in limbo and I had the most vivid images of collages I wanted to create.

    As soon as I reached my computer again I went to work: cutting out little pieces of my images and combining them with pieces from other images. I sat there for hours and days and absolutely loved it.

    Even nearly blind I can still do this!

    THIS is my passion; this is how I nourish my soul!

    The universe is a collage of a near – infinity of pieces. I am a collage of around 50 trillion cells. I read that each second half a million of my cells die, about the same amount, I guess, must divide. The universe and me we are ever – changing collages!

    My life is a collage of places and people and experiences. Each moment and each encounter become pieces in the big mosaic and what happens this next moment can change completely how I judge my life, it could even shatter the collage, so that I have to pick up each tiny piece anew and combine them in a different way to a new collage….this process keeps evolving until the moment I die.

    Whose collage is ever complete?

    Art by KIKI (Flying Into The City)

    More Paintings
    My Blog
    Mi blog
    Kiki en TELEMUNDO
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