Don Quixote

Don Quixote was born in a moment of crisis. Not a formal crisis, but an inner one.

I felt out of time, out of alignment. I kept creating, yet I had the sensation of fighting against something that no longer had a precise face. Like him, I moved forward with stubbornness, even knowing the world would not prove me right.

The figure is elongated, hollowed out, exposed. There is no heroism, no triumph. There is resistance.

To resist means to remain standing even when meaning is not evident, when balance is precarious.

The title is not gratuitous. That is how I felt: determined, perhaps stubborn, certainly vulnerable. Don Quixote is the bridge between a before and an after, between what was ending and what still had no form.