There are rooms you have to cross along paths. Some are practically empty, some full of light. They are the result of the objects that inhabit them, that put you at ease. Things that may not have a value, others that are full of life, a sort of city, and anything can exist in there, a whirlwind of stuff, even useless things, but it makes you feel good.
There are objects that fade like postcards on dressers, and objects that go on living. They don’t go with the others, because they have atemporal signs and lives. There are seas painted on walls, women on buildings, some say it’s the same, but instead it is not, we like different things, the ones that have an authenticity that speaks and gets noticed, leaps out at you and makes you wonder: how did they do that?