The Plastic Water Bottle Soldier's - A Satirical Report From The Urban Stage

There are children in Luanda who no longer surprise. They wander, pause, reappear - not as stories waiting to be told, but as fixed elements of the urban landscape. In this exclusive collection, Evan Cláver asks for no pity, nor does he offer judgment. He draws, stencils, annotates. His works provide no moral compass - they are reports, absurd and precise, drawn at street level. The child becomes a soldier. The weapon is a plastic water bottle. The battlefield is asphalt. The war, as always, is social — but no one is keeping score. Here, childhood is neither sacred nor symbolic. It is errant, agile, semi-visible - moving across the paper like a line that refuses to resolve into meaning. Cláver’s image-theatre is populated by figures that belong everywhere and nowhere. They are props and protagonists, ghosts and graphics. With irony as his ink, the artist constructs a world where satire becomes testimony. His line is dry, almost impatient, yet meticulous - like someone watching from afar, unmoved but attentive to every detail. He does not ask what will become of these children. He does not ask at all. He records. He builds. He exposes the fiction behind the spectacle. The Plastic Water Bottle Soldier’s is not a cry for help - it is a grimace in the face of collapse. In Evan Cláver’s hands, the city is not narrated - it is dismantled. And if there is a message, it lingers in the discomfort each image leaves behind. Perhaps it isn’t “just art.” Perhaps it’s simply the world, staring back.