A dense curtain, overwhelmingly green, cracked only by occasional twigs and branches, shimmering in the bright sunlight or grimly darkens underneath the approaching storm clouds. This summer, I wish to know the forest.

I learn from one painting to the next. I have many wordless questions and the paintings are the answers to them. Sometimes I feel lost and then I withdraw to drawing.

Stripped from the joyful beauty of the colors, drawing is my alphabet, literally the sign language of my very basic understanding, in which the world is but a scattered collection of lines and dots, mysteriously assembled into shapes.

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