SAGUNTO
Spain | Thursday, August 12, 2010 | 5 photos
Spain. Lands of Valencia. Further. Lands of the Roman Empire. Further. Lands of barons who ruled that hilltop in middle time. Even further. Lands of myself, like an own Jerusalem, of an own Zion. The images are pieces of an open past in eyes of dreams; the story is a path through portals that flirts with the skies. They're paintings in mouth shape swallowing us by eternity. The gates are choices, vertigos through labyrinths of doors. The sky is the time playing a ball game with clouds that pass by in a hurry.
Time doesn't freeze, it waits. There's no one. Only the place, only the top of a hill. A castle and its ruins. An empire and its ruins. The summit of the world. There's no one. The geography is from the dream, personal, the plot is provincial. The story is a close invitation to those who come and go through the gates… world-windows in the late afternoon of a lost time at a place called Sagunto.
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