Each image alludes to an end, each image is imbued with memory, even if nobody properly remembers; memory is part of the fibers that govern the universe. But this sad memory is the glorious testimony that something has existed. 

Yet the most intense and even brighter feeling is that these figures, images, these signs that have a name for us are of a degree that is barely measurable, different from “nothing”; they are ghosts. But the nothing will never be able to swallow the skinny and bloodless grace of a ghost, a shadow unaware of body.