City under the snow. Acrylic on paper.

We paint about that which brightens our days. What would these poor mortals be without art? I suppose if a rich man passes through these pages and reads. But what does a weak, blue-eyed bourgeois rat care? Do you know art? My direction is ethereal, I am compelled to scatter letters and colors from this abyss - labyrinth. Let's talk about art, or not. Let's talk about feelings. I use colors or letters indistinctly. I do not lose sleep, civilization without fire or this look with magnifying glasses. I just paint and observe, like someone who is not afraid of death, nor of its process. You can't shoot a lion, if the shot is not death. I prefer snow. Not so much the cities. And your weak little oil painting rat, what do you say about art?

I spent some hours painting and imitating styles. All art is complex. This should be a tempera technique. But I liked using acrylics. You have other ideas converging. What really matters is what the artist feels. In the creative process.

I have this feeling of constant search for improvement. I hope you like it. May friends who stop by, leave a comment if you like snowflakes.