What will happen to the world when we die? Will there be a world? Will
there be anybody? That philosopher might be right when he thought that the
fact that we still exist after death depends on others thinking us and
that oblivion is the true death. Maybe that is the reason why we are so
interested in others speaking of us.
When somebody dies, some parts of the world start missing.
When my grandmother died and nobody was there to tell me what had happened
to this one or that one, or what had happened in a certain moment, I saw
how some areas of the map turned blank. The most curious thing is that I
don´t remember those parts had been on the map before I had the idea of
making questions on them.It was as if the world was something small and
narrow that we enlarge while we are habiting it, as if it was not done
beforehand but by our images-memories, not only ours but also those of the
Somebody tells us fragments of his story and while we listen to him images
come to our mind. I spoke of my grandmother and the world appeared. But
nothing would appear that she hadn´t told to me before. Telling is
important. Telling is to draw, to paint, to build the story, a story : the
world we all inhabit.
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