Born in Murcia in 1957.
Painter, sculptor, martial artist, lecturer on topics of philosophy and human formation.
In the bowels of the earth you hear the sounds of metals and rocks colliding with each other. At night the ground is still warm, without a sun that encourages it, and a slight lunar luminescence is perceived on the surface. Something is happening down there, and almost nobody notices. But some of us know: We know that the Master has lit the Forge again. If you lay down, with an ear resting on a stone, you would hear a cadence of b lows, a metallic music, choruses of Warriors that we thought were extinct. While we sleep in our apparent security of euros and borders of thorns, someone watches over us and forges Swords. That do not hurt but cure. That they do not hit, they talk. Let no blood drip but tears. They are not even shaped like swords, but their subtle edge tears veils and shadows, clearing the way to the Treasure Island, to that Land of Neverland that someone called Utopia … Others, perhaps, Earthly Paradise … Or simply Ithaca.
A planet with the shape of a Human Heart, revolving around a sun called Justice, to which a moon called Liberty hugs him interminably.
Luis, warrior in a thousand battles defeated and resurrected in a thousand and one.
Enrique Ciller, Poet