Moments, seconds carried away by the whirl of eternity, turning into decades and centuries, hanging above your head like a Damoclean sword... Your existence is suspended in air... Your life is only a thin thread among myriads of other colorful threads, making up a patchwork of humanity, only to change its color and wane with Time... The clock is ticking, the sand is running out, only to make up the desert of nonentity...
Moments are chipped away by the mysterious sculptor piece by piece, stone by stone...
Seventeen moments of spring
This painting was created by Wassily (Vasiliy) Kandinsky (1866-1944)
No comments:
Post a Comment