The recycling man

I live in Rethymno, the city where I was born and grew up. Everything here reminds me of something I have experienced. Stone, sea and myth were the materials to dream. Everything that I was offered, comes to the surface again as are incarnation of memory. I always admired what the hand of man can make. The magic of the hand made and the curve redeem the normality of everyday life. I consider the value of detail equal to the whole. Some things seem easy and some others are to be discovered in another time, more personal. Nothing dies unless you forget it. The strength of an abandoned metal, of a fabric or wood offers immense emotion. I am not giving up the challenge to make it alive again. Rags of any texture and composition are still valuable. I never throw away things except the ones that hurt me. I invite you to visit my heroes. I believe in them. None of them resembles another. But they all share the same blood. Waste material thrown in every corner of the neighborhood, in dilapidated houses or dusty warehouses. They have wrinkles from rusty paint and clothes wrinkled from the journey. Others are true and can give me hope.