Between the scars in the closet, I run into a painting I made some time ago.
It was supposed to be color playing in blue, but it ended being the prison of suffering and past. Living proof of moments and feelings.
So now, the paint look so heavy I can’t even look at it for long. But i can destroy it any time, and that is a great relief.
It’s the only painting I’ll forever keep.
Harmony in blue? No, it’s a storm!
