(...)In a world of insanity and false beliefs, we think we possess the ability to evaluate and appreciate just because we can, we can easily distinguish between good and evil, between beauty and ugliness, between right or wrong. We are at least the avatars of the unknown other-self's trying desperately and deliberately to achieve the ability to define yourself, related to others. We can judge and enunciate our opinions, we try hardly to mark everything that surrounds us with our appreciations.(...)
Maybe is not about the beauty anymore, maybe is about you and all the things I put together above. Below is only speculations and a matter of taste, which finally concludes about the beauty within. That beauty lives by herself in her imperfection, showed and hid to your eyes, open and closed to your senses, sweet and meantime bitter if you swallow it. It’s never-ending process, regenerating herself, flown by, and mostly in the winds of our desires, impossible to catch and needed often to be released.(...)
The image shows an intermediate state, somewhere beyond the world of dreams where the light tries to disintegrate the main character, revealing the most intimate parts of his soul.
