Dreamland is for a friend. A long time he lay in a kind of sleep. Was he dreaming? Did he see light, colours, shapes, compositions, scenes? Or was everything dark? And then when he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling with big black eyes – I mean with the pupils so wide open that they push aside the grey-blue iris – did he see past moments of life as if projected? An imagined future? There are only questions – these and many others. What life, confined inside your body? I know all my presentations of it to be unreal. But painting is also conjuring.
Ingrid Castelein
April 2025
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