through the window

I gave myself the exercise to draw the sky the most faithfully to what my eyes perceive: lights and colours, textures and depths. Although, I soon realised the elements don’t wait for my hands to lay down their special composition, and so the exercise often failed to my own temporality. Room light may betray the shades I believe to be putting on paper or the sun may dazzle me.

The sky resists the observer forced to assemble brief pieces into a recomposed impression. Daydreaming becomes to me a unique show to experience time passing above a petrified city, and the weather appears less mundane than plural and wild.