I always keep a bunch of flowers in my room. The bouquet in a glass vase looks like a flickering candle in a room filled with quietness. It burns for a few days in the dark night, and go out gradually. I bury the remains of the candle and light a new one. The cycle just repeats itself.

Red fire, purple fire, today I light up a candle of white fire…Who can not love such flowers! The are as pale as the sketch paper I torn and scrambled when my inspiration dried up… This imagery made me more and more attached to this bouquet. My doll seemed to like it, too. Her closed eyes held the sleep of tranquility, but her eyelashes trembled as if the warm breath of the flowers was touching them. She gave a hug to the bouquet, and then she heard them pour out their hearts without lies.