The echoes of an island remain in space and memory, Voices resonate, alive. A moment and a place, the alive are shadows that walk across the faded landscape of the cove. The history settle in the present. History project its cry. Three women troubadours. A device that catches the voice. A painter that brings back color. "They are fortunate islands, they are lands without a place. Where the king lives waiting, but if we start to wake up, the voice shuts up and there is only the sea."
