Ulises Tapia is a Nicaraguan artist transplanted to Paris like a seed from another soil. He inhabits the interstices; not the streets, not the museums, but that suspended heartbeat between two terabits of memory. His exile is not an address, but a fold in time. Ulises does not seek to remember. He digs. He probes what others preferred to forget: elusive narratives, talkative silences, archives reduced to ash. He speaks with ghosts that have no birthdates, recounts personal mythologies, but his Ulysses has no islands; only closed ports. Wandering between nostalgia and becoming, he builds “counter-memories” the way one builds rafts: precarious, urgent, profoundly human. By assembling the tangible; drawing, screen printing, photography; with the intangible; 3D modeling, installation as a trap for specters, he erects monuments to what has no body, epitaphs for the non-things of cyberspace, where History silences those who cry out differently. Ulises does not return. But he gravitates, like a melancholic satellite. And in this haunted orbit, he slowly sketches a sensitive cartography between digital data and dust.