A silhouette, a shadow, a sensation. Imperceptible, as a ghost would invade our lives without making a sound, without disturbing our motions, without being noticeable, this woman exists. She is made of dark and pastel shades, which reflect the deep colours of her soul. Here she is. Her grandiose presence, the magnificence of her gestures, and her striking pose hide mystery. She is not really here; has she ever been?
She flees from one room to another as her body tries to catch her soul. Her aura impregnates the air, the walls and the history. With grace and humility, she stands still for a moment, takes a breath and it feels as if she was here. Was she ever here; breathing through life, loving and laughing?
She wishes to be remembered. Now, or later. She left paint, words and music to replace tears, anguish, and pain. The words waltz, the paintings whisper melodies and the music tells stories. As we turn the pages from the imaginary world she abandoned, we shiver and look around. She is here.