Quintana stages a brutal inversion of hierarchy and survival. A massive, spectral rabbit head—pale, raw, and dissolving at the edges—rises above a frail, almost skeletal humanoid body that appears too fragile to bear its own weight. On the figure’s outstretched hand perches a small falcon, the traditional predator now reduced to a passive witness, the natural order violently overturned.

Quintana transforms the rabbit, long a symbol of fear and prey, into a precise emblem of the Cuban psyche under prolonged historical pressure. The oversized head, with its elongated ears functioning like instruments of dread, embodies a consciousness that has swollen to monstrous proportions while the body beneath it has been systematically diminished. The falcon, once sovereign hunter, now sits contained and diminished, underscoring how systems of oppression invert power until the oppressed internalizes the very mechanisms that once controlled it.

In this dark, visceral square, Quintana offers no redemption and no escape. He presents the self as a site of perpetual mutation where inflation and diminishment coexist in perfect, painful equilibrium. The rabbit does not flee. It confronts us directly its swollen head a testament to the terrifying cost of endurance when consciousness has outgrown the life it was meant to inhabit.