My house for the past thirtyone years has enough stories that i can paint on canvas for a lifetime:
Fires that broke out in the neighborhood, accidents and quarrels out in our street, holidays and fiestas, childhood crushes and friends, my first painting, lighting my first cigarette, puberty, Scorpio Nights, gravity bongs, shrooms, graduations, deaths, new borns, typhoons, a pandemic... But that house is older than a very old grandmother, and what i can paint are only my stories of living in that space, of seeing that space everyday for three decades. Through breeze blocks and window grills, within plywood walls and g.i. corrugated sheets, i intend to give the viewer a long-ass house tour.