It is inevitable to face the weight of the masks when I look at this work. In the reflection of man and beast, I see more than a struggle: a pact forged between what is expected and what is. Masculinity, with its form of armor, often becomes an invisible prison, a place where gestures harden and silences accumulate.

The man, mounted on a donkey that seems almost oblivious to his burden, carries in his body a strength that does not allow itself fragility. His broad back supports more than his own weight; it is a back accustomed to carrying what is not said. His hairy shoulders, like those of a mythological figure, insinuate a connection with the animal, with the primitive, while his legs, firm and muscular like those of Pepe el Romano, evoke a virility that finds no escape in tenderness. It is a body that has been molded to resist, but never to rest.

Here, the man is alone. The gaze does not ask, it does not beg, but neither does it deceive. It is the echo of those who carry the burden of being strong, of being invulnerable, and who in the process forget how to ask for help. The beast, closer than it seems, is not the enemy. It is part of him. Perhaps it is fear. Maybe the instinct that always remains crouched, waiting for the moment to explode.

Looking at it hurts because it reveals the truth of being lost. There is no greatness in it. Only the rawness of a man and his shadow, forced to coexist. And in that coexistence, something that could seem like redemption, but that continues to be the same.