Standing in front of this painting is almost the same as standing on the gallows with a hanging rope, and your breath is taken away bit by bit.
He was dizzy, his limbs were numb, and he fell into a fast and endless merry-go-round.
He always carried it with him wherever he traveled, sharing the same honor as the flute at hand, loving it with a passion akin to disgust. This portrait seemed to become the heart of the ocean that bewitched him, the siren of sirens, a mirror that allowed him to see the madness that he hated but could not get rid of.