Inspiration words that inspired the work of Wifredo Lam

The artwork created from the suite of prints, Ultimo Viaje del Buque Fantasma, were largely inspired by the writings of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. His work helped carve the artists' iconography, dreaminess and palette. The following is an excerpt from his writings, from “The Last Voyage of the Ghost Ship”:

Now they will see who I am, he said, with his new booming voice of man, many years after they first saw the huge ocean liner, no lights no noise v, a night spent in front of the people as a great palace deserted longer than all the people and much higher than the tower of his church, and sailed in darkness to the colonial city fortified against the Buccaneers on the other side of the bay, with its ancient slave port and the beacon whose grim blades light, every fifteen seconds, transforms the town into a lunar camp houses and streets phosphorescent volcanic deserts, and although he was then a child without man's deep voice but with his mother's permission to listen to the beach late at night harps wind, I could still remember as if he were seeing that the liner disappeared when light from the lighthouse was in the flank and reappeared when the light had just happened, so it was a ship that was intermittently appearing and disappearing into the entrance to the bay, seeking sleepwalker groping buoys marking the channel of the port, until something should fail in his hands for guidance, because drifted toward the rocks, ran, jumped into pieces and sank without a sound, but similar encounter with the reef was to produce a heat of iron and an explosion of machinery from freezing in terror to the sleeping dragons in the forest began in the prehistoric past of the city streets and ended at the other side of the world, so he thought it was a dream, especially the next day, when he saw the radiant Bay Aquarium, the disorder of colors black barracks in the hills of the harbor schooners Guiana smugglers receive their shipment innocent parrot the crop full of diamonds, he thought, counting the stars I fell asleep and dreamed this big ship, of course, was so convinced it did not tell anyone or again reminded of the vision until the night of March following , when I was looking celajes of dolphins in the sea and what he found was the transatlantic illusory, shadowy, intermittent, with the same wrong destination the first time, only that he was then so sure of being awake he ran to tell his mother , and she spent three weeks moaning in disappointment, because your brain is rotting from walking backwards, sleeping by day and venturing at night and people of evil life, and as he had to go to town in those days in search something comfortable to sit and think of the dead husband, for his rocking chair scales had spent eleven years of widowhood, took the opportunity to ask the man to leave the boat by reefs so the child could actually see what was in the window of the sea, the love of the stingrays in the spring of sponges, pink snapper and sea bass diving into the blue water wells was more tender than in the waters, and even the errant hair the drowning of a colonial wreck, but no trace of sunken ocean liners and what the dead child, and yet he kept his mother who was determined as promised to accompany him on the eve of next March, sure, not knowing that the only safe and was in his future was an armchair from the time of Francis Drake who bought at an auction of Turks, in which he sat to rest that night, sighing, my poor Holofernes.

If you saw how well you think on these velvet lining and with these brocade coffin of a queen, but the more evoked the dead husband over him and he returned borboritaba chocolate blood in the heart, as if instead of sitting were running, shivering and soaked full of breathing land, until he returned in the morning and found her dead in the chair, but still hot as rotting snake bitten, as they occurred after four other ladies, before you throw into the sea killing the chair far away, which did not hurt anyone, because they used so much over the centuries that he had spent the rest produce power, so he had to get used to the routine miserable orphan, marked by all as the son of the widow who brought the people to the throne of misfortune, experiencing not so much as a public charity that was stealing fish in the boat, while his voice was becoming twine and forgetting over their visions of yesteryear to another night of March when accidentally looked towards the sea, and suddenly, my mother is there, the huge whale of asbestos, the beast boar, come to see him gone wild, come to see him, to promote such a riot barking dogs and woman panics that even the older men remembered the terrors of their grandparents and got under the bed thinking he had become William Dampier, but those who took to the streets did not take the job unlikely to see the machine at that moment to lose back east and disruption in the annual disaster, but it contramataron shock and left him so badly twisted that it was then he said, dribbling with rage, now go to see who I am, but was careful not to share with anyone but her determination went the entire year with the fixed idea.

Now go to see who I am, hoping it was again on the eve of the apparitions to do what he did, and is , stole a boat, crossed the bay and spent the afternoon waiting for hours in the corridors of large slave port, between the human salsamuera the Caribbean, but so absorbed in his adventure did not stop as usual in front of the shops of Hindus to see the mandarins of ivory carved elephant tusk whole or mocked blacks orthopedic Dutch in their cycles, or frightened as the Malays sometimes with copper skin had gone around the world captivated by the chimera of a secret fund that sold steaks Brazilian coal, because he did not notice anything as the night came not up to the full extent of the stars and the forest breathed a sweet fragrance of gardenias and salamanders rotten, and it he was in the stolen boat rowing towards the entrance of the bay, with the lamp off so as not to disturb the officers of the guard, every fifteen seconds idealized by the Green Flap lighthouse and become human again by the darkness, knowing he was around buoy marking the harbor channel not only because more and more intense saw her light breathing oppressive but because the water was becoming sad, and so rowed so engrossed that he did not know where it came suddenly a terrifying shark breath or why the night grew thick as if the stars had died suddenly, and was that the liner was there with every conceivable size, mother, bigger than anything else in the world larger and darker than anything else dark land or water, three hundred thousand tons of shark smell going so close to the boat that he could see the seams of the steel cliff.

Without a single light in the infinite portholes, without a sigh on the machines without a soul, and taking his own sphere of silence, his own empty sky, his own dead air, standing time, sea floating wandering in a world of animals drowned, and suddenly everything vanished with the lamparazo lighthouse and for a moment again the Caribbean diaphanous night March the pelicans daily air so he was left alone between the buoys, not knowing what to do, wondering if he really astonished not be daydreaming, not only now but also at other times, but just had to ask when a whiff of mystery was buoy off from first to last, so when we passed the lighthouse on transatlantic clearly reappeared v and compasses was lost, perhaps without even knowing where on the Ocean Sea was, fumbling for the invisible channel but actually drifting towards the rocks, until he had a revelation that mishap overwhelming that the buoys was the last key enchantment, v lit the lamp of the boat, minimal red light that did not need to alarm anyone on the minarets of the shelter, but had to be for the pilot as an Eastern sun, because thanks to the liner she corrected his horizon and walked through the door channel in a large maneuver happy resurrection, and then all lights went on at the same time, the boiler wheezing again, catching the stars in the sky and the bodies of the animals went to the bottom, and there was a crash of dishes and a sauce fragrant laurel in the kitchen, and heard the baritone horn in the orchestra covered moon of tumtum and arteries offshore lovers in the dark cabin, but he was still so angry backward not stunned by the emotion or intimidated by the prodigy, but noted more strongly than ever that you're going to see who I am, damn it, now you will see, and instead of stepping aside for not that colossal machine rammed rowed in front of her, because now they know who I am, continued to guide the ship with the lamp until he was so sure of their obedience that forced him back on track descorregir the docks, out of the invisible channel and halter led him like a lamb to sea towards the lights of the sleeping village, a boat alive and invulnerable to the beams of the lighthouse that now not invisible but it returned every fifteen aluminum seconds, and there began to define the crosses of the church, the misery of the houses, Illusion, and the liner still behind him, following him with everything he had into his captain slept on the side of the heart, the bulls snow in their pantries, the patient alone in his hospital, orphan water cisterns, the pilot unredeemed cliffs that should confuse the spring because at that moment burst the huge roar of the siren once, and he was soaked by the downpour of steam hit him again, and the foreign boat was about to capsize, and again, but it was too late, because there were the shells from the shore, the stones of the street, doors of the unbelievers, the whole town illuminated by the lights themselves terrified liner, v he barely had time to move away to make way for the cataclysm, screaming in the middle of the commotion, there you have it, you bastards, a second before the tremendous steel hull carve the earth and be heard clear up the mess of the ninety thousand five hundred glasses of champagne were broken one after the other from bow to stern, v then there was light, and it was nothing but the morning of March noon on a Wednesday radiant, and he could indulge in watching the incredulous look with an open mouth the greatest ocean liner of this world and the other stuck in front of the church, all whiter than twenty times higher than the tower and ninety-seven times longer than the people with the name engraved in letters of iron, balalcsillag, still dripping from its flanks old and languid waters of the seas of death.