A storefront gate is made of reclaimed corrugated sheets of metal and painted with whitewash. Precisely in the middle of the wall there is a small door frame, in which a Cuban man by the name of Raúl Postillo Zamá, sits silently. Behind him, one can see between the shadow and light, rows upon rows of eggs stacked high, waiting to be sold. At first sight, the eye is automatically drawn to the appearance of the man with strong facial features, large calloused hands with swollen veins. He is wearing an old t-shirt, distressed pants, and plastic slippers. His age is beyond determination: he could be in his thirties, but also in his fifties. He does not appear sad or full of despair; he is rather full of tranquillity and resilience. There is no caption, no indication saying that it is a performance, performative installation, live painting or actually an egg shop. One can imagine the old problematic – art bigger than life? Equal to life? Totally incomparable to reality? The reality of the artist experience is recreated here to be questioned: an experience as a visual memory that, in the end, becomes a monument.
