The world’s most renowned painter has unmistakably started her beautification process and it’s quite clear that there’s no way anyone can interfere, even if you wanted to, even knowing people that unwisely would want to. This artist at work, altering all corners of our daily views with the kindness of its nature, has a voice more compelling than the return of rain and frost, more determined in each way it presents itself as the most actual art, unaware of the fact that museums are closed because of Covid and other disturbances.
My heart usually skips a few beats anyway, beholding any of my close family members claiming their whereabouts in this smooth spectacle, whether it be Safran in the Woods, conscious capital letter offering its kingdom, Rebel running these Fields with similar glory, or young Mec, patiently waiting for me to decide on any crossroad.
Their unconditional surrender to their surroundings, a hunted trait truly longed for but never fully presided, moves me to tears sometimes because of the ownership it entails, partly explaining the absence of people in my pictures, forever being the real jammers.
We got a registered letter the other day from our neighbors, the ones that used to talk to us as if values were shared, regardless of our origin. They are hoping to one day finish of the wall they build on our property’s border, the wall worth to avoid at all times because it takes away our outlook, well, one of the many at its best, but still pretty disastrous.
I seriously considered our answer to enclose a sharp picture of those little birds that found a breeding spot in one its cracks, but I am very aware of the language gap, not depicting French or Dutch, we are just aliens with no actual rural parentage to account for.
I too often break my head on this intriguing and deafening stuff, figuring out the rules that seem to be obvious to anyone else but me. All it actually takes is a closer look. A stone to sit on, a road less travelled, a corruption of color, a victory over the infinite. Nature in its purest form. For the sake of beauty, I confess to taking my cues from anything but human essence. We know nothing, do we?