the
silversmith craft.

Haneing been sacrified until ashes, Quetzalcoatl’s spirit becomes transfigured in the dawn’s, bright star, from where the invisible empire is, extexto upon that ambiguous parcel of the night in which dreams give rise to eve, to inspire in his nobility a new of old splendor and promises of a new daybreak . And yet the silversmith of the iztacteocuilapitzqui do not come from the echo or from the frame, nor the mirror or the copy but from the taking from the antechamber of the dreams itself, place where the hearts of the predistined, dialogue with gods, treasures of the trascendent world, and obliged to sproute with his hands, through the sacrificies torture of silver by fire and chisel, the flower and the real song of things.