The explosion of reality arises upon an anguish born under the physical encounter with things. Little happens on the ground, only from time to time emerges a horse, a soaring bird, a busting wave overcomes, a building piles up, a sky catches fire, a house goes into ruin. A life collapses, thenceforth elevates. –Jorge Villacorta
Vertigo is inhaled upon excess. Vertigo upon the very existence: to be born, to live, to die. Vertigo at the intensity, vertigo by contrasts. That timeless moment where the antipodes of an oxymoron meet. So beautiful to feel threatened? An overmuch of silence, that overwhelms? The concentration of emptiness, that overfills?
The desert welcomes and expulses; beauty empowers and frightens. Vertigo is intensified at the sight: the majesty of the waves, the sound of the wind, the sculptural forms of fire.
The territory is governed by an inanimate being; all is God. There is no time: everything is happening and every moment is stopped: breathless.