Believe it or not, I was born in a police car, road to “Kings County Hospital Center” in Brooklyn on July 13, 1977, around nine o’clock at night.
New York that night, was dark and numerous riots swept the city. My mother told me that my first cry was mixed with sounds of ambulance, fire and police, broken glass, fire, thunders, shouting.
About me? This is my story simple.
Since I have memory, I have had a pencil between my fingers. I grew up in front of an white paper, invincible, I’ve learned from every line, every shape and every shadow.
Sometimes it’s immense the shadow, indifference.
… I can see the flashes of bombs about Syria in the middle of the night.