J.L. Fiol

The Art Thing Gibraltar 1947 It is a scorching day in August, the Sun at its highest. It is the day when I catch the first conscious glimpse of that which lays claim to vacant possession of the inter...

Past loneliness, past terror, past despair, beyond future, he sits in the darkness of the hallway. On the floor. Back against the wall, legs outstretched, arms limp. Above him, the empty coat hooks. O...