El abandono guarda una historia. La calle lo sabe. Grita en silencio. Basta la<\/strong> mirada atenta para escuchar.<\/p>\nDispuesta a encontrar belleza en lo cotidiano, descubro una primera se\u00f1al en el gris del concreto: un aviso descolorido, pegado en una puerta cerrada, sujeto apenas por una cinta canela tan terca como flaca de fe. Las letras, desgastadas por el Sol y la espera eterna, anuncian horarios y exigencias burocr\u00e1ticas, sin muchas ganas, pero con autoridad. Es m\u00e1s un lamento que un cartel. Un rastro de alguien que necesita poner orden en medio del caos o dejar constancia de una ausencia. La cinta, casi rendida, parec\u00eda decir: \u00abno sabr\u00e1s qui\u00e9n, pero hizo lo que pudo\u00bb.<\/p>\n
Sigo a la caza de im\u00e1genes que cuenten historias; observo una loseta fracturada que forma una especie de mapa. Como si el suelo supiera de rutas secretas o viejas heridas que no terminan de cerrar. Alguien ha colocado un peque\u00f1o tapete encima. Intento de cubrir la cicatriz, met\u00e1fora de mi ciudad: tapamos lo roto con lo posible.<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_column type=\u00bb4_4″ _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_image src=\u00bbhttps:\/\/revistaquiote.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/vocho-demon-scaled.jpg\u00bb title_text=\u00bbvocho-demon\u00bb _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb custom_padding=\u00bb0px|||||\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_column type=\u00bb4_4″ _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_text _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb text_font_size=\u00bb11px\u00bb text_line_height=\u00bb1em\u00bb min_height=\u00bb38px\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb]<\/p>\n
Victor Mora
El Demonio en Vocho
Litograf\u00eda\/papel de algod\u00f3n
50 x 40 cm
2025<\/p>\n
Colecci\u00f3n Ciudades ut\u00f3picas<\/em><\/p>\n[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_column type=\u00bb4_4″ _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_text _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb]<\/p>\n
Estas calles esconden s\u00e1tira donde menos se espera. En el rinc\u00f3n de una jardinera, una bolsa de basura perfectamente sellada, primorosa y dispuesta junto a un letrero: \u00abFavor de no tirar basura\u00bb. El contraste es casi po\u00e9tico: el orden en la desobediencia, la cortes\u00eda en el error. El intento de no molestar, al infringir la norma. Como si alguien hubiera dicho: \u00abs\u00ed, pero con todo respeto\u00bb.<\/p>\n
En una esquina, tenis y zapatos cuelgan de los cables. Nadie sabe por qu\u00e9 est\u00e1n ah\u00ed ni qu\u00e9 historias quedaron atrapadas. Son parte del paisaje urbano, eco de pasos que quiz\u00e1 no regresan. Constancia discreta y firme de que algo pasa ah\u00ed. Recordatorio, a contraluz, de que el suelo tambi\u00e9n guarda secretos y que hay silencios que no esperan respuestas, pero dejan inquietantes preguntas al aire.<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_column type=\u00bb4_4″ _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_image src=\u00bbhttps:\/\/revistaquiote.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/en-las-torres-1-scaled.jpg\u00bb title_text=\u00bben las torres (1)\u00bb _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb text_font_size=\u00bb11px\u00bb text_line_height=\u00bb1em\u00bb min_height=\u00bb5px\u00bb custom_margin=\u00bb-64px|||||\u00bb custom_padding=\u00bb0px|||||\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb]<\/p>\n
Victor Mora
Las torres
Litograf\u00eda\/papel de algod\u00f3n
50 x 40 cm
2025<\/p>\n
Colecci\u00f3n Ciudades ut\u00f3picas<\/em><\/p>\n[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_column type=\u00bb4_4″ _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_text _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb]<\/p>\n
M\u00e1s all\u00e1, invisible entre las sombras, una peque\u00f1a flor crece entre la rudeza agrietada de una banqueta. Nadie la ha puesto ah\u00ed. Nadie la espera. Y; sin embargo, ah\u00ed est\u00e1: sola, fr\u00e1gil, testaruda y radiante. Recordando que la vida tambi\u00e9n brota en lo improbable, sin pedir permiso… y con toda intenci\u00f3n.<\/p>\n
El camino diario revela una coreograf\u00eda invisible. Personas que ponen atenci\u00f3n en lo peque\u00f1o, que se preocupan por dejar las cosas \u00abcomo deben estar\u00bb, aunque el mundo parezca ir en sentido contrario.<\/p>\n
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Victor Mora
Los Altos
Litograf\u00eda\/papel de algod\u00f3n
40 x 40 cm
2025<\/p>\n
Colecci\u00f3n Ciudades ut\u00f3picas<\/em><\/p>\n[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=\u00bb1_2″ _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_text _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb text_font_size=\u00bb11px\u00bb text_line_height=\u00bb1em\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb]<\/p>\n
Victor Mora
En las alturas
Litograf\u00eda\/papel de algod\u00f3n
40 x 40 cm
2024<\/p>\n
Colecci\u00f3n Ciudades ut\u00f3picas<\/em><\/p>\n[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_column type=\u00bb4_4″ _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_text _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb]<\/p>\n
Las calles son textos: se escriben con huellas, con restos de cinta, con los dobleces de la inmundicia bien cerrada, con tenis voladores, florecitas tercas y todo aquello que escapa a la mirada vac\u00eda.<\/p>\n
Celebro que lo revelador no siempre est\u00e9 en las fachadas ni en los escaparates o en lo evidente. Se asoma en las grietas y los recovecos del asfalto, en las puertas y ventanas entreabiertas o en las hojas ca\u00eddas. Se manifiesta junto a la suela del zapato, esperando a que alguien baje la mirada sin prisa y encuentre la historia, la iron\u00eda o la belleza que sobrevive al ritmo ciego que todo lo arrasa.<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_column type=\u00bb4_4″ _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_image src=\u00bbhttps:\/\/revistaquiote.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/estrella-1-scaled.jpg\u00bb title_text=\u00bbestrella (1)\u00bb _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb custom_margin=\u00bb-51px|auto||auto||\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_column type=\u00bb4_4″ _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb][et_pb_text _builder_version=\u00bb4.27.4″ _module_preset=\u00bbdefault\u00bb text_font_size=\u00bb11px\u00bb text_line_height=\u00bb1em\u00bb custom_margin=\u00bb-56px|||||\u00bb global_colors_info=\u00bb{}\u00bb]<\/p>\n
Victor Mora
Paseo por la Estrella
Litograf\u00eda\/papel de algod\u00f3n
50 x 40 cm
2025<\/p>\n
Colecci\u00f3n Ciudades ut\u00f3picas<\/em><\/p>\n[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Victor Mora
\nEl \u00e1ngel de la Ciudad
\nLitograf\u00eda\/papel de algod\u00f3n
\n40 x 30 cm
\n2025
\nColecci\u00f3n \u00abCiudades ut\u00f3picas\u00bb<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":2775,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[267],"tags":[284,286,288,287,285,283,290,289],"ppma_author":[108],"class_list":["post-2878","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-numero-cinco","tag-belleza-de-lo-cotidiano","tag-ciudad-con-alma","tag-cronica-visual","tag-detener-la-mirada","tag-historias-de-la-calle","tag-historias-urbanas","tag-pequenas-revelaciones","tag-secretos-del-asfalto"],"yoast_head":"\n
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