Her mind is rustling. Among the many souls - Her infinity, like the wind that hides the true meaning. You will meet a subtle woody-honey shade of love. Look but don't touch! They play for centuries, all branches, enveloping the space around them. And if you suddenly gape, enthusiastically looking at the sacrament of the meeting - you lose all the time, not remembering what day of the week, so evening is born in the morning ... Having lost the power of speech, while the power of the branches of her dreams rustles over you. It happens that a part of a multidimensional system becomes mortal, simple, human, inhabiting all kinds of bodies, moving along the lines of fate. Then these people strive to live in harmony, without trying to go into details - what will happen next ?! They do not want to wander around the world, but they endlessly seek themselves in love, trying to give it in the plasticity of a dance in which their body, like branches, makes them stand up in a round dance. In them, Ancient Nya breathes, plays, awakens himself, lives ...
Canvas. Oil. 60x80 January 2022
Acquire
Not every meaning finds instant echoes in the storehouse of the soul, but everyone is given the opportunity to touch the string. The only question is who is tearing and who is trying to barely touch ?! Everything has its time and result ...