I move my ghosts away, turning them into fictitious monsters. In the fictitious monsters the metamorphosis of the disgust of this world takes place, face inoculated against horror, bearable anguish. The beasts of reality dwell in the best of all possible worlds. The monstrous is not a divine sign, but the dark human sign that usually hides itself by going around the paths of divinity. Art fictionally replaces the real; the monstrous transforms it symbolically and the photographic covers it with beauty.