MIRADALATERAL

Specular realities between the mask and the reflection of the figure in the eye of the host, in the banquet of autophagy. We are what we eat, as well as we are our masks and personalities we adopt, playing to be what we are but acting as we think that we are. We are the beings we eat  coming from other worlds, air, sea, river, orchard, forest, open field, the closed farm. Raw, cooked over low heat or flame, breaded, fried or boiled. Our kitchen is the home, where take place simmering family narrative, the spice of life, what feeds us and give us name. Smell, touch, see; fish, poultry, vegetables, meats, hearing the pots and pans, crackling rhythms of fried food, the boiling of cooked, like what happen in the sedimentation of flavors in the stove heat that precipitate alchemical reactions and substances. The impregnated air vapors are promises of what is about to say, declining any meaning to the taste sensation. I go through the kitchen like by the world, keepers of secrets