When I was a child, I visited Casapueblo a few times. I didn’t quite understand that somewhat magical place — all white, full of strange sculptures made with gears and metal scraps. Around the same time, during one summer, a mysterious fog appeared when my parents mentioned that the son would be opening a restaurant. I didn’t fully grasp why. I sensed it had something to do with the book about the plane crash in the snow, but it was all part of stories that grown-ups didn’t tell children. Pretending to be distracted while wandering through Casapueblo, I managed to secretly read the back cover at some point.
As a teenager, his drawings left a deeper mark on my mind — or maybe on my soul — again with that touch of magic. When I flew on the Pluna airplane painted by him, I was moved.
And when I saw that Aldo Sessa chose his place for the cover of his book, I understood — in my ignorance of art — that he was a great one.
My parents never presented him to me as someone great; I never really knew why. But I made him great, a great figure who, in my view, was partly responsible for Punta del Este being one of the most beautiful places in the world.
All that’s left is to thank him.
