I am here. Here I am, standing on a mountain raising pasture from the background hosting grandeur and screaming through a set of flowers grown by an old woman, much older, much wiser than I would claim to be. Softly so smooth she raised them from the ground just to prove to the sun how very much her love meant, that it would sprout from dirt brown and massive clay, a poetic phrase so delicate and so new. Born out of the colors she would dream under its warm rays eyes closed, glass like, the light would bend and she knew then that the spirit of life is infinite.

Panel 1

EVENTS

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Panel 2

MUSIC

 

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Panel 4

BOOKINGS & CONTACT