Out of all the possible landscapes, the one we see daily is the one that disappears the most. Not so long ago, we traced the silhouette of a cloud on a window. The glass extended its functions with this drawing: besides unsuccessfully trying to be invisible to allow us to see beyond and of prodigiously trying to be a mirror, that continuous line was enough to turn the crystal into a canvas. With the figure of the cloud barely finished, its form and position had changed and, in a moment, it had evaporated against the horizon. The second cloud, the drawn one, vaguely reminded of the first one. With rather weak steel bars, elevated on top of a ladder, we built a third cloud that, in its modesty, exceeds the previous two. Between innocence and destiny, now the figure is filled in with a rare sky, rotating over itself, left to the fate of the wind.