Rafael Alonso: Olho Grande: Olho Grande
Welcome to Olho Grande. The sun went down. It fell from above. Everything at the Big Eye resort is a pile of memories and projects that scattered about its checkered streets. Large middens spread over the corners, house doors, the ocean, the top of hollow, silvery trees that resembled staircases. The tired sun would not set anymore, as in a twilight that would never fall.
A lonely painter of idyllic landscapes painted tirelessly the same scene that was said to have been usual at Big Eye – large macaws overflying the stacked houses, nesting up in the hills, and screaming at the never-ending sunset.
The Big Eye beach was a small, cozy square in the very heart of everything, a shadeless beach with a and constant light. From there, the painter could see the ocean far away or imagine it as if melted with a thin oily layer over the surface.
Every endless afternoon a pagode band positioned itself in front of the only bar where the painter produced beautiful frescoes with incontinently nostalgic landscapes. In such times, the seasick sailorman waved to the sea longing for sudden bursts of memories that hopelessly became ruins.