CADENAS

Los eslabones de fibras van aprendiendo a estar, pero el peso de la vida las ata o las rompe.

Al romperse, vuela y resbala; se eleva en espejos de luz, atraviesa las estrellas y toca la luna, a ver si le abren la puerta.

Se tambalea, baja planeando, no se decide, y de pronto ve un campo de animales pastando, unos árboles milenarios, una alfombra de hojas de otoño rodeando un jardín de flores silvestres.

Colores de una pincelada, de una sensibilidad que recubre su proeza infinita, donde su mirada se cuela por el espiral, y una ternura en su paleta de colores para tratar la vida más allá.

© Carolina Paton, 2026. Todos los derechos reservados. / All rights reserved.

Links of fibre slowly learn to hold, but the weight of life binds them or breaks them.

When it breaks, it flies and slips away; it rises through mirrors of light, crosses the stars and touches the moon, to see if they'll open the door.

It wavers, glides downward, can't decide, and suddenly sees a field of grazing animals, ancient trees, a carpet of autumn leaves circling a garden of wildflowers.

Colours from a brushstroke, from a sensibility that wraps its endless feat, where her gaze slips through the spiral, and a tenderness in her palette of colours for treating the life beyond.

I took this photo of Matisse's Icarus at the Grand Palais. People crowded around, but the figure and the yellow struck me — and in a corner, a teacher showing it to a group of children. That creative force, alive until the end, moved me: never surrendering to anything before art, before what we carry inside as creation.

© Carolina Paton, 2026. Todos los derechos reservados. / All rights reserved.