Techniques: Oil, watercolors, gouache and crayons.

At the foot of the trees that came out of the village, when it rained, wide and deep puddles formed in which the pedals of the bicycles sank. I also remember when leaves fell from those tall poplars and were left lying in the water. Surely that's why I imagined some past fall, where we wore high rubber boots and yellow raincoats in which the mud that we splashed on each other slipped.

I also remember the mowed fields and the fields of soaked earth. How could you forget that with a thin straw you could “entice” an ant and make it believe that it was following its path as it climbed the decoyed stick to leave it trapped in the drift of a leaf?

What could be more like being God ...?

It was I who pushed the blade subtly, and it was I, too, who collected with my palm the water that swayed the raft; then he dropped a few drops with his fist clenched as if bombarding that insect. He wasn't a benevolent God, no, he wasn't ... he was a curious God who wanted to know if that stone, from above, like any natural phenomenon could create the unpredictable waves that would finally turn that leaf ...

But always, inside me, I wanted to know what that ant was feeling.