"I stopped in front of her, sitting in an imaginary chair. On the gray wall, a green ink with traces of inactive mold rises and falls in an almost inert rhythm under the influence of my breathing. The place seems untouched for decades. At each expiration, a cloud forms in front of the perfectly rectangular frame. I look straight at her. If I step aside a little, I see a road. Next to the road, an old ash rotates its torso counterclockwise. In front of him, hidden by the branches, a character stretches his sleeve with a variegated plumage like an archangel. On the left, on the side of the road, there are two men, one of them is covered by a pile of books, the other seems to be building a paper house for him. Out of nowhere, several balls roll in an alert rhythm, but I see only one, which reflects the limbs of a lame dog. To the right, behind the ash tree, on the steps of a lost building, a typewriter whispers what happened the day before. A woman wrapped like a tulle corkscrew, goes down and gathers the hurried leaves from the steps with a vacuum cleaner. One eye is lurking in the lower left corner. In the center of the image, a philosopher is looking for his idea for tomorrow. Someone can be heard shouting for help, I can't make out his voice, everything becomes blurred. It starts to get cold and the steam I take out mixes into a stream in which the tiny dust shadows spin chaotically in different directions. The image becomes blurry and fades away. The water can be heard behind me again. The fog rose slowly, drawn by the sun. I stand motionless in front of the thermal baths in Bagno Vignoni. From somewhere, probably beyond a window, probably behind a curtain, behind a sliding door, some precise chords from a Bachian match can be heard."
Raluca Arnăutu, artist