If I work for the moment I rarely end a picture in an instant. It is often the fruit of one walls up gestation. Begun, abandoned, destructuré it defies me whole days, weeks even months before the history between him and me starts again. A long history of love and désamour where unfaithful mistress I abandon it as soon as it has me  gave everything to me.
Insatiable I already have eyes turned to another picture which waits me for right-hand side on its easel, ready to attract me towards a new adventure. An adventure loaded with colours and feelings, different from the previous one in spite of its flavor of already seen and of already lived.