“Touched in doubts, heading towards the firmament, the wing hurts, the earth seems distant, without knowing where the wind takes it, it follows without space domination of its presence in the air. the slowing down brings deep mental confusion, disorientates the real sense of flight, and begins to observe hypnotized a mysterious magnetism that takes him northward. ”

Excerpt from the book: “The Bird of Fire” by Thiago Cóstackz.

Work Intervention: “Flying Torto”, from the series: “The Saga of the Wing”. Mirror sculpture installed in the Rio do Fogo desert, Rio Grande do Norte, Brazil.



“Tentacles and black cearás”

“I always imagined flying over mountains, but I grew up in a valley. The low land where sweet and green pinnacles rise on both sides of the gray dirt road like charcoal debris, ruins of yesteryear evoke prosperity and horror, the brown air meets a serene river that refreshes wings when finding the solitude of a field where only the silence blossoms. Heaven … ah, heaven, this one dominates as if it were earth, home.
Cracked graves, serpents and mysterious palm trees with dark trunks, as if every being of the land that lived there had found a home for his soul. They are staring at us at a certain distance from each other.
Black powder rain on terracotta roofs, facsimile speeches that connect to breached nests. Foolish planters of dreams survive the rape of the land and virgin wombs that have not yet been born. Monoculture keeping the monkey modus.
The paths always divide by the road while a black bird and a solitary moth help to break it with the silence of the winds on the emptiness.
On the hill that rises solemnly over the valley lives the sorcerer, solitary in his rock tower, this Shangri-la, surrounded by elementals, imaginary or not, I can say that they will be there.
And when I, now a highland being, go back to the valley, time seems to have suffered the effect of jellyfish sleep. Everything continues, even the relentless longing for this land and the astonishing sense of no longer belonging. Here is the valley where I stand next to a carcará and a hawk, in an unusual and cosmically orgasmic twilight. ”

Excerpt from the book: “The Bird of Fire” by Thiago Cóstackz.