The triangular face and bulging eyes remembered a young innocent, somewhat surreal. But devoid of magic, in a touch that make it special. Trataba de inseminar las mentes llenas de actitudes cotidianas, that it not used to gestate any idea elevated for a long time. It was too obsessed, needed to distance themselves.
The Red flame lit the cigarette. Outside the distant people, with their modern coats, desteñía streets. "Idiots that walk without a real destination" - thought while watching them behind the glass. If only they could express themselves authentic way, or inspire life of colors that surround them as she used to made; the human being would be pure art. I needed to get this useless fate, translate it. Meanwhile, She smiled sadly held in the Studio.
You shut down the smoke of the reflection on the palette, making it an ash grey. Then, He outlined a few strokes over those bulging eyes, by dragging them to the indifference, as a left lead by the current. He picked up brushes and threw them in the trash, He did not like to reuse them because they always left some other trace. He lightly splashed the back of the fabric with your hand, that cleaned with solvent under the tap. Emotions should not escape canvas, or accompany her beyond. At last ended.
I was trying to to contemplate his works. El cúlmen de su trayectoria se exponía durante un par de días en la galería.
Aside from connoisseurs who scanned every millimeter of the creation, OA deviated slightly from his destiny. Something through the glass had captured his attention, an undetectable spirit sneaked inside giving an idea, It began to grow. He forgot for a second where it was heading, then he continued walking.