A story of an impossible love.
One airplane lifts into the sky searching for another — drawn by something it cannot name, only feel. Across vast distances of air and silence, they move toward each other, suspended between hope and inevitability. And when they finally meet, the encounter is not gentle. It is incandescent. A blinding ignition — like the birth of a supernova — where longing reaches its absolute peak and light overwhelms everything.
But every explosion carries its own gravity.
After the brilliance comes the fall — a slow, aching descent into emptiness. The crash is not just an end, but a fragmentation. What once burned as one breaks apart, scattering into particles, into memory, into stardust.
There is, too, another way to understand this story — one written in the language of science. After the Big Bang, the universe held only hydrogen and helium. Water — and therefore life — could not yet exist. It was the supernovas, in their violent beauty, that forged the heavier elements. With each detonation, they released the full spectrum of matter into the cosmos. Among those elements was oxygen. Oxygen joining hydrogen gave birth to water. And from water came the conditions that made us possible.
In that sense, we are made of the remnants of explosions. We are stardust remembering how to burn.
Milions d’estels i un somni becomes a meditation on the dual nature of love — ascent and سقوط, ecstasy and collapse. Its images speak of yearning: of a love so intensely desired that, when finally realized, it cannot sustain its own brilliance. It flares, transforms, and survives only as memory.
A love that endures in the mind — fleeting yet eternal. One that rises and falls, that consumes and dissolves, that exists for a moment but leaves a permanent trace.
This is the artist’s second self-published book, following Or i aram (2022).