The beauty of the earth being round lies in the fact that a path never ends, you can only be stopped somewhere along the way. When it is over, it is never over because the end has been reached. The end does not exist. Every part of the way is important, whether it’s a smooth ride on the highway or a machete-wielding fight to get through the jungle. Every segment could be the last stretch just as every segment could only be a passage to the next one.

Variables. Countless variables.

No vision to be trusted, no project reaching the end originally set out to achieve, what better way to live than to only make sense of it in retrospect? While the why may not always be clear at the moment of taking a decision, what it has lead to makes sense and often seems beyond question when seen from the other side. The shoes may be covered in mud, scars may adorn one’s face, but the chosen path seems almost inevitable, right, and in the end – when reflections of could-haves arise – the only one we know.

The moment – sole defender of the sure. Future and past, belligerent and imprisoning but never any help in the struggle to get to the shore…

If moments lasted, they would be stripped of reality’s magic. Past and present fused, unreal the pale hue of “now”, caught between a palette of pastel colors to the left and an unfinished canvas to the right.

To contemplate, take pictures or to paint?

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