In this short article, I don’t want to use many words, just a couple of sentences to accompany the images that reflect my inquiry into the protections of the heart. What stops the flow of love? What transforms me into a cruel person?

For many years, I repeated a phrase that rose straight from my soul: “I couldn’t go on living if my mother were no longer in this world.” Yet life always finds unexpected ways to lead us into the deepest parts of ourselves. And in my case, one of those ways was through my mother’s Alzheimer’s disease.

I never would have imagined that the town I hated so much as a teenager would one day become my most longed-for refuge. It began, almost imperceptibly, around the time of the pandemic.

And I decided to follow my dream literally, creating a dress with tree leaves and ferns which I then wore into the woods of France during my summer holiday. There, a dialogue of meanings unfolded: my wounds were Her wounds, my scars were Her scars.

It was so subtle that it felt like the fluttering wings of a tiny bird. But all of a sudden it made me cry and a row of tender tears rolled down my cheeks and landed on my chest.

I didn’t draw or paint since I was a child which means many many years ago.. I always thought I was not good at it, it was not for me, I had other talents and interests.