The vignette

Well, in the beginning, if I had to choose one, it surely wouldn’t be this one. And yet, there’s something about it. He hides it. A key. A key. A secret. I remember the moment I made it. Pages made in a hurry, perhaps too much. A situation that I wanted to pass quickly. A race. Maybe that’s it. 

On closer inspection, I think it’s the only one with a rotated horizon. It even has a glitch that dodged fixes  . It’s clearly made to have been cut a bit more on the left. It has a lot of texture. There are brushstrokes almost empty of ink that created roughness that is difficult to reproduce. It possesses grays that escape its limits. Targets invading uncontrollably. That cover and model. It has lines that direct and insinuate.

I analyze it and I think I see things. But it didn’t get to safety. I don’t find out what it is. The original hung on the cork. The final one, with desktop background. I’ve been like this for two months and nothing. I can’t find it. If you could go back and see me. Maybe then. But it was so fast. It didn’t take me long to make it. What was it?

Always speed and brutality. The rush to get there. To see the end. Anxiety, illness. Freedom.