Sitting down, with your feet on the ground, wait without impatience, eager and confident that this will end. His person is observed from a lower plane, which the we see we feel its superiority. Our land is sunken and from her appears imperturbable, in concentration. His hands cling to the brushes, his true and half real to manifest his unaltered thought, his feel, despite being gripped by the heavy chain of immobility. They have covered their eyes, their voice and hands are limited to manifest freely, a padlock secures it, closed by hand someone who could not open yet. In spite of everything, his palette, which is the carrier of all the colors with which his work speaks, has kept always the open space to that true freedom that all considered as a standard of a new and coveted adventure, high-flying, that some left perish. Hers does flies and does move, messenger of truth. He has not been fooled by the comfortable life, he has not lost his hope that the vast majority recognize that call and make it own. MONCHOLC, until today. P. 92.                     Dr. Abad

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