The hero is usually imagined as an archetype of excellence: the embodiment of a Greater Will, a bearer of virtues, a model to be followed. That immaculate figure does not interest me. What draws me instead is what happens when heroic will is stained by pain, fractured by loss, darkened by longing—when the collective no longer celebrates the hero, but pushes them aside.

I am drawn to anonymous heroes, to ordinary ones, to secondary characters. Those who do not fit within the canon of perfection, yet who, through stubbornness alone, become quietly transgressive. The antihero suffers, collapses, and still searches for reasons to stand up again. They take risks, fail, insist, fall, and begin once more.

Antihero speaks of wounded dreams, of desires that escape like balloons drifting into space, and of a Major Tom who pursues the unattainable with conscious naïveté—scattering black stars across the void so as not to forget his faith.

On the surface of those balloons appears another unexpectedly tender antihero: Donald Duck. Almost always unlucky, clumsy, good-hearted, endlessly working just to make ends meet—and yet optimistic, generous, essential. A secondary figure who, paradoxically, allows others to shine as protagonists within the Disney imagery.

This collection is dedicated to all anonymous antiheroes: those who, through their fragilities, hold the narrative of life together. Because it is they who, quietly and without recognition, give us the stories most worth telling.