Self-portrait of...

Masks, we all use masks to live, we all hide daily behind an image that represents our hypothetical happiness... we mask ourselves in the morning when we get up, we run to the bathroom to verify that our image, our face is still presentable, that it looks young, dynamic, optimistic and that it does not reflect anything of our souls, of our tormented souls twisted in our own hells, our dualities, our little faith in others, our false beliefs and our very authentic lack of sincerity... masking ourselves is our best tool to survive our sad realities, to see ourselves as we are not and above all not to see ourselves as we are...

Lost in the twists and turns of his dreams, the Sun Woman remembers the ups and downs of his passage through the earthly world of his affections, the encounter with the Lover of the Himalayan Gods, the crossing with the Wizard of the Andean Hill, the Looks of the Good Man and the Sighs of the Hand of the Brushes... She goes, illuminating the world of eternal nights...

Hirsute, surprised, stupefied, the mask of the mask hides his finger indicating his protest, his eternal protest... 

The hydras, with their multiple heads, always threaten us, always frighten us, from the origin of the times. Guardians of the Underworld do not really know what or who they care for, perhaps they are treasures, perhaps they are illusions, perhaps they are the palaces of a fearful demon or a fearful god... We fight with them for fighting, kill them for killing them, but we don't know why, we continue in the world of the ignorant, we continue in the world of fears, the world of our fears...

Self-portrait of a nose with the mask of a man who wanted to be a vegetable. Wearing a mask is an art: the art of masking... Some they roam them for Venice, others use silver, but this nose was only that of a man whose dream was to be a vegetable, hopefully a tree, he dreamed discreetly...