Part of me stands elsewhere,

watching the earth from a distance.

I feel the sense of belonging in the forest,

As if that’s the close place to my real being.

 

Walking down through the late forest,

the mysterious sense of my real self and soul,

The currents lie beneath the naked eyes.

The unseen spirits flying.

My stuntperson finally rest.

 

Thank you.

 

You are the one facing the real turmoil in the real world.

you act like a slate, protecting my true inner child.

you face all the threat and doubts.

still be resilient.

 

I can safely enter my deeper existence.

Using my brush get into the hidden world.

Passing through the tunnel of time,

embrace the vibration of cosmos.

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Under the tranquility of the afternoon,

Green mist settles.
Every figure stands in a shared rhythm.

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Black, orange, white parasols echo.
The river calm as a mirror with its ultramarine pale, Sailboats in distant float on the water
like two wings swing by

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Air frozen in this second,
A mist blending the whole scene.
What is real? What is fake?
Painting is like another world of reality,

through a fleeting glimpse

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Is our world being real or theirs?
The central little girl seems to know the answer. Her gaze breaking over the canvas,
staring at me.