A 16 meeters long Tablecloth hand painted for Private events and shootings
Among the fig trees of early autumn, words roll as if they were grains, as if they were shadows, as if they were searches for pieces of heaven.
How can words create images?
Let there be earth, let there be waters and mountains, let there be light, and they were made. We wanted color, we wanted not to want more than we have, to enjoy the earth, the waters and mountains, the light and the people.
How could we not be the ones who enjoy what comes our way, for the wealth of the world is immeasurable in clusters, in clusters of vertical reds, of inserted blues, of yellow expectations of autumn quinces of the green that gathers in the golden leaf and fulfills the prophecy of the immortal resurrection.
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