The Lady of Perfume

Good Night Community, they would be publishing a series of beautiful works of art. My uncle Janos was a trip for a long time but nevertheless he left me part of the works and the reflections made by him about them I take the liberty to share them with you hoping that you enjoy them as much as I do.📖 🎨

She is there, with her doubts, denials,half-truths, lies, maybe outside or inside. She does not let herself see. She refuses to be trapped in the painting, but she is, the wait is her prison, she listened to his footsteps from one place to another, counts the hours. There is a tremor in his hands: it is anxiety. Time played with it and later he knew it. His only link with reality are those flowers that have nothing particular and does not stop observing, waiting for them to wither to put them. In the furniture the portrait sleeps face up, say it is the coffin of a memory, of a desire, does not dare to look at it although it makes an effort to remember. But that afternoon it rains like the last time he saw it. Go to the furniture, Nervously she takes the picture, her hair is pulled back in a high bun, the ring shines in her left hand, the smile contrasts with the gravity of the man with the mustache and military uniform in the portrait, she cries when kissing the image through stained glass de rouge and tears. The perfume is spread in the rainy afternoon, the fragrance that you love so much, says, the face of blurs in a grimace of pain, of sadness, while the image is again approached to the left cheek, whispers: forgive me, forgive me ... I just understand, it's the perfume that you gave me on that trip: Chanel number five ... do you remember heaven?📖 🎨