My father was an artist. What does it mean to be an artist? Or what does it take I should say. All his life he spent on transforming the moment into eternity. On bringing the imaginary into the tangible. Once Heraclitus said — "No man ever steps in the same river twice". But what if he was wrong. What if the time forever lost comes to life once again. What if the river flows backwards? Can scientists create a time machine? As of yet they cannot. But some can. And they are not scientists. They have their own science. Their science is of paint-brush strokes, slightly curvy grins and never ending sleepless nights. ... To create a time machine that makes the river flow back. In the painting is my mother lying on her deathbed. A moment later she will be no longer with us. How do you think art is connected with death? Write in the commentary.
