For Gabo.!

Illustrations from my childhood memoirs.

Illustrations from my childhood memoirs.

Illustrations from my childhood memoirs.

Illustrations from my childhood memoirs.

Illustrations from my childhood memoirs.

Illustrations from my childhood memoirs.

Illustrations from my childhood memoirs.

Illustrations from my childhood memoirs.

Illustration for Inktober-2017

Illustrations for Inktober 2017.

Inktober 2016

Illustrations based on Gabriel García Márquez’s novel One Hundred Years of Solitude

"It was an absurd journey. After fourteen months, her stomach corrupted by monkey meat and snake stew, Ursula gave birth to a son who had all of his features human. She had travelled half of the trip in a hammock that two men carried on their shoulders, because swelling had disfigured her legs and her varicose veins had puffed up like bubbles."

Inktober 2016

Illustrations based on Gabriel García Márquez’s novel One Hundred Years of Solitude

One September morning, after having coffee in the kitchen with Aureliano, Jose Arcadio was finishing his daily bath when through the openings in the tiles the four children he had expelled from the house burst in. 

Without giving him time to defend himself, they jumped in to the pool fully clothed, grabbed him by the hair,and held his head under the water until the bubbling of his death throes ceased on the surface and his silent and pale dolphin body slipped down to the bottom of the fragrant water. 

Then they took out the three sacks of gold from the hiding place which was known only to them and their victim.

Inktober 2016

Illustrations based on Gabriel García Márquez’s novel One Hundred Years of Solitude

'Pietro Crespi would spend the day in the rear of the store writing wild notes, which he would send to Amaranta with flower petals and dried butterflies, and which she would return unopened. He would shut himself up for hours on end to play the zither.

One night he sang. Macondo woke up in a kind of angelic stupor that was caused by a zither that deserved more than this world and a voice that led one to believe that no other person on earth could feel such love. Pietro Crespi then saw the lights go on in every window in town except that of Amaranta.

On November second, All Souls Day, his brother opened the store and found all the lamps lighted, all the music boxes opened, and all the clocks striking an interminable hour, and in the midst of that mad concert he found Pietro Crespi at the desk in the rear with his wrists cut by a razor and his hands thrust into a basin of benzoin.'

Inktober 2016

Illustrations based on Gabriel García Márquez’s novel One Hundred Years of Solitude

Colonel Aureliano Buendia made a bonfire in the courtyard of the dolls of Remedios which had decorated their bedroom since their wedding. The watchful Ursula realised what her son was doing but she could not stop him.

"You have a heart of stone," she told him.

"It is not a question of a heart," he said. "The room's getting full of moths."

Inktober 2016

Illustrations based on Gabriel García Márquez’s novel One Hundred Years of Solitude

"Fernanda felt a delicate wind of light pull the sheets out of her hands and open them up wide. Amaranta felt a mysterious trembling in the lace on her petticoats and she tried to grasp the sheet so that she would not fall down at the instant in which Remedios the beauty began to rise. 

Ursula, almost blind at that time, was the only person who was sufficiantly calm to identify the nature of that determined wind and she left the sheets to the mercy of the light as she watched Remedios the Beauty waving good-bye in the midst of the flapping sheets that rose up with her, abandoning with her the environment of beetles and dahlias and passing through the air with her as four o'clock in the afternoon came to an end, and they were lost forever with her in the upper atmosphere were not even the highest-flying birds of memory could reach her.

Inktober 2016

Illustrations based on Gabriel García Márquez’s novel One Hundred Years of Solitude

And then he lost his memory, as during the times of forgetfulness, and he recovered it on a strange dawn and in a room that was completely foreign, where Pilar Ternera stood in her slip, barefoot, her hair down, holding a lamp over him, startled with disbelief.

"Aureliano!"

Aureliano checked his feet and raised his head. He did not know how he had come there, but he knew what his aim was, because he had carried it hidden since infancy in an inviolable backwater of his heart.

"I have come to sleep with you," he said.

Inktober 2016

Illustrations based on Gabriel García Márquez’s novel 'One Hundred Years of Solitude'.

Two nights later Ursula saw Prudencio Aguilar again in the bathroom, using the esparto plug to wash the clotted blood rom his throat. On another night she saw him strolling in the rain. Jose Arcadio Buendia, annoyed by his wife's hallucinations, went out in to the courtyard armed with the spear. There was the deadman with his sad expression.

" You go to hell," Jose Arcadio Buendia shouted at him. "Just as many times as you come back, I will kill you again."

Prudencio Aguilar did not go away, nor did Jose Arcadio Buendia dare throw his spear. He never slept well after that. He was tormented by the immense desolation with which the deadman had looked at him through the rain.

Inktober 2016

These illustrations are based on Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude

Rebeca only liked to eat the damp earth of the courtyard and the cake of the whitewash that she picked off the walls with her nails. it was obvious that her parents, or whoever had raised her, had scolded her for that habit because she did it secretively and with a feeling of guilt, trying to put any supplies so that she could eat when no one was looking.

Inktober 2016

These illustrations are based on Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude

Several months later saw the return of Francisco the Man, an ancient vagabond who was almost two hundred years old and who frequently passed through Macondo distributing songs that he composed himself. In them Francisco the Man told in great detail the things that had happened in the towns along his route, from Manaure to the edge of the swamp, so that if any one had a message to send or an event to make public, he would pay him two cents to include it in his repertory. Francisco the Man, called that because he had once defeated the Devil in a dual of improvisation, and whose real name no one knew.