Field note 07 / Cotopaxi highlands

The Village That Paints Its Own Horizon

On an old drum skin, a highland day stays visible all at once.

In Tigua, the horizon is not a distant line. It is a shared wall: Cotopaxi in white, fields in green, and a hundred small decisions in red, blue, and marigold. I keep returning to the panels because every figure has somewhere to be, even when the village is celebrating all at once.

Flat colour, crowded time

The hide remembers its first life as a drum. Scraped, stretched, and flooded with enamel, it holds a scene without haze or hierarchy. A woman spins wool beside a dancer; a llama crosses the same plane as the snow peak. Nothing recedes. The story stays close enough to touch.