I imagined different ways to bring back to life a bird I found dead on the hot asphalt of a border city. In this magical exercise, I applied a taxonomic spell to talk about the small acts of love and courage we silently use daily as tactics of collective resistance to face danger, the risk of extinction, loneliness, and death.

The image of the birds represents the power of the future, the beauty of the Latin American that in us is expressed as stellar, brave, mutable, and, nevertheless, historically futile. The bird is redemptive: it thinned its bones to fly and, transformed, soared to the sky, and from there, it could see something different that we have envied and, therefore, we have wanted to imitate.

In Tijuana, in my neighborhood, Las Cumbres, everything around us is made up of alliances between materials that do not correspond to each other; everything is used, and nothing is wasted. We understand the vast value to be found in them. There, I learned to see and collage as a child. In Las Cumbres, there was no electricity, but there were candles.