I used to dream the same dream for many nights:
The violet flower motives of my bed-sheets are growing over my sleeping body, branching around my bones, intertwining with my veins... When I open my eyes to stop the dream, flowers grow out of my iris.
The dream was pleasant nor nightmarisch, just fascinating. In an attempt to catch that image in an illustration I made those photographs, a mixture of forgotten diapostives and flowers-veins.
The dream was pleasant nor nightmarisch, just fascinating. In an attempt to catch that image in an illustration I made those photographs, a mixture of forgotten diapostives and flowers-veins.
Work untitled/2006
