About the Artist

Sometimes I’m my own imaginary friend…

It had been a dear crystal night and the stars had almost glittered like back in the old days. The day that followed was like the survival instinct itself: resilient, dark, and merciless. The sky was a distant presence, the sun a hostile, gray eminence, a selfdestructive nuclear ball that had turned away its face to give us some peace… The woods seemed dead and so unchristianly beautiful… it just made you ache inside… Spruces watched over us, dreary despite their blankets of snow, and I walked a path that no one ever treads.




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