In the wall of reality there are loopholes. With patience, persistence and dream, we can slide into them. At first sight, nothing on the other side seems different. But gradually, strange signs, unusual details, slight discrepancies make us feel the invisible presence of an "ANGE DU BIZARRE", master of a territory where the timeless hour sets, where the unspeakable speaks out, where each event shows up without beginning nor end, emerging and disappearing at the very same time. Then, we can feel loneliness in the middle of A crowd, old in the heart of youth, the fall in summer, chaos beneath ostensible balance, poetry within vulgarity ou coarseness ...
This experience may not be extended without risk, so we cross the wall back again (or the mirror as some say) bringing back with us a soul charged with an uneased silence, a melancholy tinged with an ineffable pain.
As when you wake up from a dream, in the haze of sleep, we cling back to the tenuous threads that remain connecting us to this experience: The paradox of subjective reality.
This is this dull emotion that I try to paint.