I am without action, without speech, devoid of notions of reality, lost in a crack of space-time that projected from Ox's eyes, river eyes in the old language of the Celts. Yes, I am elderly. And it represents the abstract risk of concrete and colorful forms. Something like a pin-up who reads Dostoevsky, Nietzsche and Schopenhauer. Thus, he physically, mentally and spiritually dominates whoever looks at him for more than a millionth of a second.