i n the distance, a light blue globe appears. A movement of boundless ocean. It is made of infinite matter, an expansive geometry of abysses, an elusive form, a multidirectional without a structure, crossed by a myriad of imaginative particles that explode inside of me. I am the center that does not exist. To the left, below, the old man is seen crouching down before his metamorphosis into a hedgehog; in the composition, he occupies, in the same enlarged position, the central part of the work.