If slavery is a culture in itself, a way of life and thinking;Free fiction doesn’t care about all this. In my painting: Wishes Lake the vision is embodied in the wild imagination, the imagination wich freely seeking a better tomorrow, the rigid reality of confronting liberated thought. Okay, how’s that?
If the reality is framed and shackled by the laws governing life, morality and government, or even their hackers, the imagination does not recognize all these systems, the imagination explains beyond the cell, flying above the prisoner, rising above the Earth’s rigid area, as a free cloud choosing where to fall.
Wishes Lake says something about this, a painting made by my hand inspired by a story, that may have eluded my dream of anxious sleep, and may have swept my vigil under a sun of dust. If the painting or poem doesn’t have a story, it doesn’t count on it.
The painting, as illustrated in the picture, is divided into two halves: the top half is illustrated by a handcuffed rubber slave, sitting in front of him in a high chair a king in a crude purple uniform.
At the bottom of the painting, a lake reflects each other’s wish.
The slave’s wish to become a King
The water itself reflects the King’s wish to reach the Moon.
When I was drawing it, it was next to me a radio from which the songs came out, all of a sudden it came up with a song that got in me, Mohamed Munir was telling us: “If we stop dreaming, we will die.”