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el ultimo viaje de buque fantasma (plate IV)

Available from
edition of 99
56cm. x 76cm.

The Ultimo Viaje del Buque Fantasma suite, was done by Poligrafa, in Barcelona in 1976. It is rare, sought after, and difficult to find. These images were inspired by the writings of Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

Very reasonable. This work is priced at well under market value. Please inquire.

This print is in mint condition and is sublime, containing a lot of the iconography that makes this Latin Master's work so compelling. We guarantee the authenticity of all our Latin Master printwork, and offer a life time trade policy. Please inquire.

In the authors own words: Now they will see who I am, he said, with his new booming voice of man, many years after they first saw the huge ocean liner, no lights no noise, a night spent in front of the people as a great palace deserted longer than all the people and much higher than the tower of his church, and sailed in darkness to the colonial city fortified against the Buccaneers on the other side of the bay, with its ancient slave port and the beacon whose grim blades light, every fifteen seconds, transforms the town into a lunar camp houses and streets phosphorescent volcanic deserts, and although he was then a child without man's deep voice but with his mother's permission to listen to the beach late at night harps wind, I could still remember as if he were seeing that the liner disappeared when light from the lighthouse was in the flank and reappeared when the light had just happened, so it was a ship that was intermittently appearing and disappearing into the entrance to the bay, seeking sleepwalker groping buoys marking the channel of the port, until something should fail in his hands for guidance, because drifted toward the rocks, ran, jumped into pieces and sank without a sound, but similar encounter with the reef was to produce a heat of iron and an explosion of machinery from freezing in terror to the sleeping dragons in the forest began in the prehistoric past of the city streets and ended at the other side of the world, so he thought it was a dream, especially the next day, when he saw the radiant Bay Aquarium, the disorder of colors black barracks in the hills of the harbor, schooners Guiana smugglers receive their shipment innocent parrot the crop full of diamonds, he thought, counting the stars I fell asleep and dreamed this big ship, of course, was so convinced it did not tell anyone or again reminded of the vision until the night of March following , when I was looking celajes of dolphins in the sea and what he found was the transatlantic illusory, shadowy, intermittent, with the same wrong destination the first time, only that he was then so sure of being awake he ran to tell his mother , and she spent three weeks moaning in disappointment, because your brain is rotting from walking backwards, sleeping by day and venturing at night and people of evil life, and as he had to go to town in those days in search something comfortable to sit and think of the dead husband, for his rocking chair scales had spent eleven years of widowhood, took the opportunity to ask the man to leave the boat by reefs so the child could actually see what was in the window of the sea, the love of the stingrays in the spring of sponges, pink snapper and sea bass diving into the blue water wells was more tender than in the waters, and even the errant hair the drowning of a colonial wreck, but no trace of sunken ocean liners and what the dead child, and yet he kept his mother who was determined as promised to accompany him on the eve of next March, sure, not knowing that the only safe and was in his future was an armchair from the time of Francis Drake who bought at an auction of Turks, in which he sat to rest that night, sighing, my poor Holofernes, if you saw how well you think on these velvet lining and with these brocade coffin of a queen, but the more evoked the dead husband over him and he returned borboritaba chocolate blood in the heart, as if instead of sitting were running, shivering and soaked full of breathing land, until he returned in the morning and found her dead in the chair, but still hot as rotting snake bitten, as they occurred after four other ladies, before you throw into the sea killing the chair far away, which did not hurt anyone, because they used so much over the centuries that he had spent the rest produce power, so he had to get used to the routine miserable orphan, marked by all as the son of the widow who brought the people to the throne of misfortune, experiencing not so much as a public charity that was stealing fish in the boat, while his voice was becoming twine and forgetting over their visions of yesteryear to another night of March when accidentally looked towards the sea, and suddenly, my mother is there, the huge whale of asbestos, the beast boar, come to see him gone wild, come to see him, to promote such a riot barking dogs and woman panics that even the older men remembered the terrors of their grandparents and got under the bed thinking he had become William Dampier.

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