A Window Home

"I myself sometimes fear
that nothing, ever, has existed
that my memory lied,
that each time and aways
-because I have changed-
what I've lost also changes"

Liber Falco

This excerpt of Falco's poem, "What was" ("Lo que fue") always makes me think of home and all the people we left behind, friends and memories we cherished, faded memories and pieces of our lives, familiar streets, sounds and smells.

I was thinking of all this one day, the year we moved to Massachusetts. A new house, so different from what we knew!.I used to live on a 12th floor back home. One of my favorite things to do was looking out the windows at night, when all the buildings became illuminated and turned into light, when trees became a prolongation of the mountains and the city came to life and even the eternal traffic jams on the highway heading east look pretty.

I painted this watercolor from what I think I remember from those lost nights. I am not the same person who enjoyed that view, I'm older and wiser now...and I'm sure this is not an exact reproduction of Caracas' skyline at night as seen from my old apartment, cities change, they get bigger, older, more crowded...but it is how I remember it in my heart. It is my window home