The Flight of the Stars

In a studio steeped in semi-darkness, the boundary between the real and the imaginary dissolves. A painter, worn by time, watches with a mixture of weariness and fascination as his own creation spills beyond the frame. The night sky he painted flows like a viscous river of paint and dream, encroaching upon the easel and the plank floor. As he touches the stream, the artist no longer knows whether he is guiding the brush or if the work—now alive—is dictating the course of his soul. A melancholic reflection on the moment when creation escapes the creator's control.