“What is born underwater remains underwater.”

It is said that on full moon nights, the spirits of the swamp go out to hunt tormented souls. These lands of the south of the island emanate a scent of revenge and envy, but also of patience and smiles alike, as little or nothing matters when one is close to the fire and can be fed for one more day. Meanwhile, the spiritual isolation of its inhabitants seems to always have been here.

In these badlands, we have built a fortress of the imaginary world that lives beside the other reality.

— Tomeu Coll