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Year / 2018
The title of this piece, perhaps excessively tangential, alludes to the emotional pulse that someone experiences when a loved one is about to leave. The grandmothers, in life and literature, are endearing characters: they take us to a lost paradise.
From Los Altos de Jalisco, my grandmother settled in Saltillo, Mexico, where she lived a large part of her life. Her house and her garden are her worlds. The fig tree is plane-limit of that world; to transfer it is to imagine something that is ignored.
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