An imposing black horse emerges from the sea, its silhouette a harbinger of fate's inexorable march. A swirling ribbon of crimson and azure emanates from the darkness of the horse like an umbilical cord. Old photographs of my mother and my aunt at a young age whisper secrets of bygone eras.
A gleaming sphere reflects the scars of war, casting an ominous shadow upon the scene.
From the sea, a hand reaches out, grasping for salvation amidst the chaos.
A Voice Without a Face echoes the tragedy of forgotten memories and obscured identities.
In this tableau, the human drama unfolds, under the weight of ancestral legacy,
the inexorable passage of time and the eternal quest for a "raison d'être ".
J.F. Podevin
