Infraleves presents photographic and written records of fragilities and impulses, they are thoughts, longings and symptoms of a past that no longer exists and a future that is disconcerting. It is a present where forms are blurred and noise becomes louder, it is the gaze to a distance, the resound of an empty and meaningless echo in our ears, it is a sign of a wounded body, of the longing to return to the past and of that possibility that vanished.
For Marcel Duchamp an “infraleve” is the vital matter of art, it is composed of those fragile events extracted from the contemplation of everyday life, it is a barely perceptible gesture that can reside in laughter, the fall of tears, the gestures of hands, glances and swirl or unruly hair.
The minimal, subtle gestures, the impulses and the fragilities of everyday life are captured in the photographs, leaving their traces and allowing us to seize a moment covered with an aura that conquers us and reminds us of the situations that have now turned into melancholy.

The passages of the city listen to the murmur of its inhabitants. The 4 AM silence is interrupted by the echoes of far-gone times. The cold breeze runs through my body, the cold kiss that interrupts my sleep reminds me of the loneliness and hopelessness of my wounded body. Many things have happened, the summer flowers have finished withering and the bare stem waits to bloom, but the winter is long.
It is difficult to describe a feeling when your body is hurt, the storm is upon me and there is no shelter nearby, only murmuring walls.

The cold morning breeze runs through my body, I soon feel the warm kiss of the sun on my skin. I see how everything begins to clear up even more, I hear birds singing and the thunderous fury of the city.
I close my eyes and I start feeling my breath, my lungs filling with air and my skin bristling with the breeze. I begin to stroke my body, I try to silence my thoughts and just feel. I go slowly over my body, my neck, my arms, my abdomen, my cock and my balls. I go back up slowly and feel my warm hands on my face, I stroke my hair and fall asleep.

In my dreams, I usually travel to a forest. I feel the peace of nature, the birds singing, the freshness of the trees, and the breeze that gently hits my face. I see flowers everywhere but there is a rose garden that is my favorite, I walk there slowly while carefully listening to each of the sounds in the forest. Once arrived I lay on the grass and lost myself looking at the skies. Night has started to fall and it is time to go, I grab a rose to accompany me on the way back and start my return. Suddenly I feel that I fall and I wake up abruptly, I am back in reality.

I open a beer and I start reading a book, waiting for night to fall again to try to rest. Slowly everything dies and the echoes of the past rise again from the darkness. Another night awake listening to the echoes of what we were and what we will no longer be.