Esther, 20, born in Seville, Professor of Special Education.

I define myself:

"The experiences have made me what I am today, sensitive to everything that happens in reality and what I know"

The reality frustrates me, I hurt feelings and seeking new ways to express what my mind asked me to express ...

My goal: to make reality, raising insensitive, spread reflection, creating doubts ...

How? through writing, music, art, drawing, painting, photography, sculpture ...

Anything else? no, just ...

Whoever wants to know more, feel free to ask ...

The essence of the abstract painter's feeling ...

In the early dusk, as I recall, went to that place to hide among the trees, every day was a sad landscape outside the window of his look, his eyes displayed with agile movements all present stood for a moment and quietly, his iris began to rotate about its center, viewed without flicker every detail found, said he raised his brush and green grass, the light rested for a moment, closed his eyes and returned to its initial vision as fast as he could feel the anxiety come to your mind , stared looking for the lines, calculated slightly before taking the pigment and as a sword if his gun, he dropped his brush smeared on the canvas, fine light contours drawn on a white background, colors, and returned as mind dictated the data, was leaving the purple shed, mixing tones and composing the landscape shone before him ... he drew water, reflections, light, mildew, branch, sky ... a thousand details, but he was not happy, he wanted to steal her beauty the nature, wanted perfection in detail, but could not touch the water, rain, moisture in the grass, the empty sky impalpable, the movement of the branches by the wind, cold winter ... No got get in his paintings as precious presence, such incalculable to the stroke, so abstract and indescribable color.  

He checked his work, a thousand times his strokes compared with reality and without a word dropped upset his canvas between   grass alive ...

After some time spent vanished into the ground, cradled in his thoughts, taking a stand collection of arms and legs, in their eyes the tears and anger that does not shed tears and hates not getting what you intended ...

But something unthinkable happen, while talking with disagreement remained, the heavens opened and gave way to dark clouds ... the day around gray and it started raining ... horror was seen busy, waiting for the rain to stop, but so suddenly was the fall Rain could not find the answer to the question,

What reason the sky was raining at that outpost will later life and white light?

He said angrily and muttered ... "no" ...

l or fact is not cleared up and was forced to spend the night refuge among the branches of a tree ... rain, wind, earth, ivy, Humidity, nectar ... everything was lifted into the air, permeating everything that rozase ...

And in light of the morning, a new day rose over the heavens, the light left to see what happened that night suddenly.

Just open your eyes, glanced at his canvas, which stood in the grass ... but did not see the landscape, and the lines he drew that afternoon, his eyes were opened after this new image, its lines had lost the strength, color became confused, the mixture was noted this, there was no order, no perfect form ... where had been his masterpiece? ...

He compared the landscape before their eyes and dropped to the canvas view, was thoughtful, a little puzzled and a few minutes left to see the shock on the expression of his eyes, opened his eyes surprised ... his work was now real ... the rain had been recorded The water had marked their journey, the faded nectar could see and feel when passing fingers over that image, the moisture had seeped through the pigments and felt cold in the mix of color, the movement of the branches became blurred in sight ... and the earth also left its trace copper, recorded by the rain ... and real imperfect lines, colors various and chaotic harmony, that was the essence of the landscape, no forms, no brilliant colors and softness in the touch, it was earth was water, humidity, was ... was ... unable to capture the essence of an artist with the image, was abstraction to detail was invaluable reality, imperfect and beautiful ... it was chaos ... chaos is essential, no order ... and since then lost sight of reality to the visual appearance to enter and leave feeling in his paintings the purity that no one might notice , such that only the sensitive note, now in his paintings depicted the life, the very essence of chance ... now he was a poet of the senses of the heart, the interior image capture anyone trying to portray ...

Esther