Every illness is a vehicle for the recognition of the real order of things. Or, let's put it this way, a state of lucidity in relation to life and our place in it. The details, painful and secondary, are just that, details, mechanisms of pain to appropriate the moment. They should not be confused with the disease itself, nor with the logic that accompanies tragedy. Among all the things that the disease is not, redemption in any sense and the capacity of the sick person to take charge of his findings should be emphasized. Because it is not a question, to get sick, of a prize. The sick person is alone before the "garbage dump of explanations", and is afraid of dying like the rest of the world, not knowing what to do with what he has seen for the first time.

llness has a color wants to be a concrete form of these revelations from the sick. The inevitable word before the end of what never quite ends. A pause within another pause that is the illness in the time of the man, the building, the society, the country. And it may be Illness...and, moreover, an omen. That, an omen and a color.

Daleysi Moya