There are places that never agree to become memories.

Not because they are extraordinary, but because they refuse to leave you.

I spent a year trying to paint Tochecito.

I could not.

Then I realized something.

In Tochecito nothing wants to remain what it is.

The mountains wake up every morning believing they are the blue sky.

The clouds keep forgetting they belong to the sky.

The palms believe they are birds that forgot how to fly.

It took me a year to realize that nothing there was trying to become what it wasn’t. Everything there was simply becoming its own imagination.

Perhaps that is why I could not paint it.