Countless things exist without a purpose.
You see them every day and while you pass by them, they continue their survival. As the children of an ignorant world, they grow without light, they mix-up in unexpected forms and they rule. First a stone, then the mountain.
To collapse their destiny, you bend, you steal their home furniture and recreate its meaning with passion. Thus, their plastic world becomes our birds sanctuary, their paper wings our night watch lamps, their immortality – our soul.
In a Sunday afternoon, try to recreate the moon, try to resurrect a spoon or at least think how to heal our planet’s long ordeal.
Recreational Sunday
