back home

The first version of the novel The Bird Can’t Fly, which I wrote in dutch, is ready. While the first green was sprouting in the fields I left the emptiness of Normandy. This period just after an explosion of creative work are not the nicest days. I feel empty and numb.

As you see, the plastic resin chairs also are a bit sad.

From other sides of the world I got some beautiful ones for my collection. Thanks so much.