Sale ends in 3 weeks, 4 days
My mother has blue eyes. My mother and the Statue of Liberty. My mom is the Statue of Liberty.
Every time I start to do a picture begins the game.
It 'a gamble. The unconscious (or what to call that stuff), barefoot, cream, and what appears is an enigma at times, sometimes a series of incidences and coincidences. I find the things or the things I do and find it can happen that a sentence like and take it.
I love my mom. Take.
I like the Statue of Liberty. Take.
The eyes of my mother have that color there.
But freedom, one that is not statue and holds nothing and nothing does, I do not understand why they call it that. Because I have heard and read often that "their freedom ends where that of others begins." I imagine then that freedom is the limit. Perhaps it arrived. There. Maybe he has had enough. It 'full. Missing a drop, however, and overflows and expands. E 'in the limit. Border. It 'an edge. Freedom is that invisible line there. A bit 'crazy, that they take him they show rather than simply all.
But I'm interested in the statue of my mom. What I like so much every time I start to do a painting is all that's around; I like things that are not marked as part directly but they get there in the same. As if there was a magnet that wants them. Attraction. Things continue, painting after painting, and often become more games than they were (...)