It has been quite a long time, since I have finished this painting and it has left the Fishbowl many moons ago. Last night, when working on something completely different, my eyes fell on a photograph of it and within a minute, I got stuck in a pool of memories. Last night felt exactly, like the one that inspired me to paint the piece in the first place. A sleepless time it had been, with a lot of thinking and even more question marks. Everybody knows those moments, when you are all alone, up in the early hours and a little bit of sadness, maybe more melancholia, enters the room. For no obvious reasons. You might even face one or the other tear. And the next morning, it is still there, like a blurry mist, following you through your day. I don't mind moments like this. Actually, I believe them to precious in all their tenderness and their fragility. To me, they can be a reminder of what has been and of what might come. And sometimes, they can be the simple fact, of a painter missing one of her paintings. To me, this is part of the deal of being an artist. It feels like a good thing, to let go and to remember at the same time.