If I had to describe the works of Miguel Peidró I would choose the poems of John Burroughs, who despite having lived in the 19th and early 20th centuries seemed to have known Miguel's artwork.
The two nature lovers, John drawing with words and the other painting with the brush…
It is the life of the crystal,
the architect of the snowflake,
it is the fire of the frost, the soul of the solar ray.
This crisp winter air is full of it.
All sounds are sharper in winter; the air transmits better. At night I hear more distinctly the steady roar of the North Mountain. In summer it is a sort of complacent purr, as the breezes stroke down its sides; but in winter always the same low, sullen growl.
