I really need to go out... Black and white is turning into steam, into smoke, holding the tears, reaching the sounds, handling the notes between calm and thunder. Miles Davis is a stain back there, scratching the space with his horn, climbing the mount Olympus of jazz, of music, giving the focus to John Coltrane, who´s listening to him over his silent, lying instrument.

Sometimes I wonder if in the moment these kind of photographs were taken they already knew that they were gods.