Winter has always happened to me melancholy. It was time to look out the window and remember. An ineluctable bureaucracy between autumn and spring, painting back blank on a vertical parcel to reflect whatever you want. It's not just my business, those who forget that the snow is wet also get the yolks red from time to time. Nostalgia sums up the time, warm your hands up to the chimney you've never had, as you devour polvorons you've never liked.

Nostalgia is truly powerful. It's not something new, I know, I know, and it's an invisible spider web. Invisible thread holding the heel and finger, sticky, chaos, obstacle. The one that encourages what is rooted. But this is not an anthropological essay, but a reflection of what, at the moment, looks up and down on the networks.

There are many, many, many, classic art stories that appear lately: Our Lady of Paris or Amiens, the cathedral of Cologne, the cathedral of Burgos, Bernini, Borromini and many other Italian names. Mix, no matter Greek art, gothic, baroque or neoneoneoneoneonoclasic. The background, the message, a naïve occurrence that flourishes once in hundreds of photos: Why don't we build it already?

The answer seems obvious to the whole reader: for women, for puppets, for Moors, for migrants, for woks… Reactionary propaganda, of course. Some of the issues that have taken the responsibility of spreading this message on the networks in an almost industrial way support a multitude of followers. You can't tell the fascists that they don't have the ability to organizarse.Al Caesar what's Caesar's.

It's not easy, while you read this column (Corinthians) many people have seen pictures of Versailles and have wonderfully wondered why those things are not done. It seems that the other times were easier. Nostalgia is not the feeling that there are no simple times of the past; nostalgia is, above all, the desire for a time that has never happened.

In the photos everything seems easy, I find it suspicious. Black and white also eliminate photo problems. It has been repeated time and again that we are taught history to learn from our own paw meteors (elliptical subject, red flag), but no one has had enough courage to talk about our prestigious mistakes. The conclusion is clear; an excessively exaggerated tendency to fill gaps if there is no real memory, the historical fill in the gaps.

But this is not a historical essay, but, for the moment, a reflection of an atheist of cathedrals and palaces. It is a warning that poisonous nostalgia should not be mixed between classic orders, marble sculptures and giant leaflets. After all, the only known way forward historically has been to set fire to palaces, churches and castles.