A wrinkle is a furrow on the skin, where time speaks with space, a small fragment of immortality.
The sign is present;
Air cut from an arrow.
It is an invisible vortex, inextricable but alive. Now it becomes a crack, later it becomes a natural stem.
Born from apparently disharmonious spirals, it grows and becomes real when the feeling is settled.
Man, therefore, makes himself a medium for his creation and for his manifestation.
The Sign exists to those who listen.
Without words..