Oil on canvas
Life’s passing so quickly like a blur, like a dream, a half forgotten memory… like a crowded train going between Montmartre and Montparnasse.
Paris is surrounded by areole of dreams and romanticism. Whether these assumptions are true or not, the feeling persists. And this is that barely perceptible, illusive feeling of dreams and hopes of our lives, that arrives and passes away before you can sieze it.
