The name itself is quite suggestive. I was in London then, sitting in my apartment. This downtown neighbourhood was one of the busiest place in London. On a fine summer afternoon I looked out of my window and something caught my eye. A little kid was there on the window sill behind a torn curtain surrounded by some old broken toys. She was playing with her cat. But she was crying for some reason.
Later that night again I saw a woman leaning on that window, smoking. Those smoke puffs seemed to write a story of her stressful life. It was like I had been told so many stories that day by that window. This is when I realized that every window is like a canvas to me. These multi-storeys convey so many tales, tales of sorrow, tales of happiness, tales of loneliness...tales of being alive.
canvas, acrylic paint and brush
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