Dream of Memory Print

Low note of the time I draw about dreams in the past. A persistent obsession about memories, always standing in me. The violent melody of the fiddle my father always played with, the sound of the piano, the resonance of the strings echoes in his memories. As a child street vendor stole books to school, the sound of kite flute swaying into the symphony of time. A persistent memory is a constant source of inspiration for me to create self-portraits. Oil paint as the painter vented his heart. Pallets turn into pianos, strings into electric tram strings, childhood kite strings. The macro tree turns into a quill, turns into a harp's arrow, bends like a bow. The chains turned into arrows at that point. Horses are horses of the painter roaming the streets. It turns into oil canvas, turns into a home for the soul of the artist. The shadow of the clock gear printed in the sky, the ball of time never came back ... In the woman's ear whispered. The stairs are the stage of life, the ladder of fame. All of them, combined into a symphony of the past to the present and the future.