I am all my passed ages. The Old with his firm aestetichs and doubt. The child free and naive . We play until tools becomes still and silent. Only the old man’s question remains, hanging in the air like an epilouge:
Did it come to life?


I am all my passed ages. The Old with his firm aestetichs and doubt. The child free and naive . We play until tools becomes still and silent. Only the old man’s question remains, hanging in the air like an epilouge:
Did it come to life?