Original artwork description:

One writer noted that nostalgia is a one-way ticket. Especially nostalgia for something that never existed. We are all collectors of ghosts. Try to hold a petal on your palm. It will dry out, curl into a tiny scroll, become like an ancient hieroglyph meaning 'it has all already happened.'
There was a time when I thought love was a kind of miraculous garden. A place where flowers did not die. They were eternal decorations for my own private celebration. I even remember its name — 'The Hallucination of Happiness.'
I tried to paint that freshness. To freeze the fragrant glimmer of light on the tip of my brush. All that resulted was a kind of longing — a pink wind, blowing nowhere.
We prefer to replace living flowers with their artificial copies. Eternal. Bodiless. Scentless.

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