Vitor Hugo Rocha

A dog was abandoned in its home at the same time my grandfather became a widower, and I was returning from London, a place where I felt lonelier than ever.

The cycle of Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter seasons is suddenly interrupted by the storm and psychedelia.

In a blank space, a barrel organ suddenly chokes and plays on its own. The player with pin-tipped feet, now free from playing, may start a dance that makes him see what he couldn't listen to anymore.

Turn, turn, turn. Can there be rhythms without patterns? Can it be said one thing leads to another when the links defy (our) logic?