His landscapes of a single lone ombú tree, with zinc-white rinsings of the moon, his gaucho dances at dusk in orange groves or tiled patios, his dames of the epoch of Rosas gossiping in red dresses on crimson sofas in scarlet damask rooms, his nocturnes of the old market or the environs of Malvin, his two wonderful paintings of the murder of Facundo Quiroga on the diligence, and above all the strange series of Negro customs, candombe dancers, wakes, the mongrels chasing the funerals on foot, the parades and festivals are an inexhaustible pageant of a rich past, the best of...
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