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Roxana Casale



Canvas, japanese paper, magnet, leatherette, Etching, Aquatint, Collage

The movement of people by land and sea is as old as humanity; migration has always been a part of our history. But these movements have and continue to have many realities and facets. The countries of the Americas have been enriched by diverse migratory currents since the beginning of the 20th Century, which generated assimilations, dialogues, distances, exchanges and mixture of races. But even today, one of the strongest impulses to venture towards that uncertain destiny continue to be the climatic changes, famines and especially violence. Armed conflicts make people react by leaving their places of origin, no longer as migrants, but as displaced persons. They are forced to walk for miles, to embark on dangerous ships, many times crowded with other unfortunates with the same feeling of uncertainty, to sleep in the open, to take long train rides… but always with the hope of returning once the conflicts end. Sometimes, fleeing from that violence and other dangers with the end of finding safety and means of subsistence they are left suspended in limbo. They are not from here nor are they from there either. Refugees… illegal… undocumented… Words that were once lightly used are transformed into poisonous words… Undoubtedly, these displacements cause changes both for those that decide to leave as well as for those who do not and always leave an empty space, a hollow core and the concern, many times, for those who remain, of not knowing their fate. This is how those who remain organize themselves around this absence. The empty space they leave continues to function like a gravitational center. Everything known is modified. “The family tree” of the displaced is always divided in two: those who remain and those who left. Unfortunately, many become “bones in the desert” or disappear at sea… The routes to follow are so dangerous as the destinations that are abandoned… 

Apocalypse Statement

 DISPLACED series …"what a pity that I do no longer have a homeland! I know the history is the same, the same as it always happens from one land to another land, from one race to another race, as those summer storms pass from this land to that land"… What a pity! León Felipe.

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