Art about the Sint Jan cathedral in Den Bosch ('s-Hertogenbosch)

Sint Jan

The Netherlands is a small country, which allows me to say that I live in a big city about the small city I live in.

If I wanted to.

In this big/small city, there's a famous ancient building called the Sint Jan. I've had memories of it for as long as I can remember. Because of my disinterest, I still don't understand much about the building. Still, I used to not understand anything, only knowing it was beautiful.

Even though the building looks grand, being inside makes it seem even taller. If I didn't know any better (and I definitely don't), I'd assume it was. 

Someone should measure someday.

The building somewhat scares me, which is hard to explain: to me, it doesn't seem to be decorated; it's elegant, though everyone keeps talking about its impressive statues & decorations.

This is annoying because I have to pretend I see them as well, meaning I have to figure out pretentious ways to express my appreciation. It's scary because the building is supposed to be some kind of holy. 

I guess I'm going to hell.

Drunk lady

How often do you act like you're a good person? This painting is about a day I did twice, or at least as far as I can remember, which I probably would as I generally remember any time I do something good for somebody (because I'm not a good person.)

The first good thing was picking up my girlfriend from the train station to walk home together (She thinks I do it for her, but I only do it because I like spending time with her.)

Anyway, while we were walking back, I was trying to be romantic (to manipulate her into liking me so she'll keep helping me clean) when I slipped and stumbled.

(Which made her rudely laugh uncontrollably.)

When I tried to recover from my failure, she noticed a drunken lady who had fallen from her bike. We rushed to help her. I couldn't but help -- so that's what I did.

She must've been Thai, as they started to talk in some foreign language, presumably gossiping. And she won't admit to what they were talking about. That's what I get for (pretending to be) good. Huh.

Well dressed homeless

Waking up in a bed that isn't yours, for whatever reason, to me at least, is a little disorienting. Even if I've been doing it daily for what feels like my whole life, it never gets easier.

Though, this morning, when I awoke, I felt something special. I'm not a spiritual person at all, but the brain can make you many feelings that evoke sympathy to any religious zealot.

And because it's 'just' a feeling, there's no way to rationalize it. So I went on with my day and put on my suit. The first mirror I found, I spent an hour looking in, after another of cleaning myself first.

Looking my (regular) best, I went to my favorite work spot and sat down to start. And as usual, people walked by, disregarding my desperate pleas.

Some greet me, others smile, but none give me what I want -- which shouldn't be surprising, yet the feeling present during my first hours made me expect change -- maybe I am more spiritual than I'd like to believe.

When I felt like giving up (my hope, not the job), I saw someone who made me feel weird again. The way he walked at me made me sense this was the day I'd finally get what I deserved.

He slowly walked, seemingly to me, and when he was within touching range, he waved and gave me 500 euros.

Which made me cry like I had never before. I felt like a little boy again. He said it wasn't a problem and I should use it wisely. I responded: thanks, I guess.

As he walked away, I understood we were both more disappointed than we had been in years: because we didn't get the praise we had anticipated, he for the money they could easily miss, and me for the stunning suit I had again put on.

Date in the wrong city

Do you ever run out of your house in a frenzy, almost late, after checking you've got everything you need, only to remember you forgot something when you're just too far not to want to go back again?

I don't date much, but I'm trying to see what more than art (& family) I can appreciate in life. Anyway, I had a date, we were supposed to meet at the train station, and when I was halfway there, I realized I had forgotten my shoes and socks.

When I arrived at the train station, I felt a million eyes on my feet (there were probably none, if not only a few.) I was on time, and when I looked at my phone, I noticed a message from my date; they had arrived and asked where to go.

In this case, straight ahead of oneself, does, in fact, take one very far, or at least far enough to where they needed to go. 

So, their question confused me. They told me we should meet at the cafe, but when I arrived it was closed, they confusedly told me it really wasn't.

As my anxiety was peaking higher than ever thought possible, I felt the world slipping, looked around for cameras to make sure I wasn't in a prank show of some kind, then got a message from my date; they had mistyped the name of Den Bosch and had accidentally gone to Den Haag instead.

So all by myself, I walked through Den Bosch on now cold feet, carrying me to the beautiful places I had seen a thousand times, thinking: maybe there is no need to explore any further than this.

Anxious dissociation

We all know that the universe, and life in general, is bizarre. There's no way to talk about it without repeating what billions of others have thought and without sounding pretentious.

And worst of all, it doesn't seem like anything meaningful is ever actually discussed when talking about it. So I won't bother.

Anyway, so one day, while I was walking through Den Bosch, or perhaps while I was sitting at home, it doesn't matter. I was lost in thought, thinking very deeply about something simple.

But I could not wrap my mind around it, which scared me. How could something so straightforward be incomprehensible?

I felt like if even something like that didn't make sense anymore, how could anything else? I'm not sure how long I felt like this, but at some point, I continued walking through the beautiful city while sitting in my apartment, accepting that the most bizarre thing seems true -- it's all just real & normal.

State stole my bike

Unlike most Dutch people, who own 5-10 (one for each workday, perhaps a weekend, a vacation, or a birthday one, with some local regions having their own, admittedly weird habits too), I only owned one bike.

So here's the story of how I neglected her and eventually, due to that neglect, lost her at the hands of the state. 

However, this is not a story about how I miss her or advice for you on what not to do. Those feelings and that strategy are my secrets to keep.

Complaining is life's greatest pleasure, and complaining about an authority, like the state, is beautiful, but I'm not complaining here. Yes, they stole my bike, but I'm happy that they take care of the abused in this country.

That might not be true -- maybe walking is life's greatest pleasure, though I feel it's not as universally appreciated. However, what do I know? 

Anyway, I neglected her, mostly because I love walking. I'd walk everywhere instead of using her while she slowly rotted away over time due to the weather.

(Also, her tire was flat, and I didn't want to be bothered to fix it.)

Then, one day, the yellow mark of death appeared on her. Something I didn't understand and had to research, which took me a while to do, and even then, I didn't bother taking action.

I don't remember when it happened, but at some point, when I walked past where she used to be, I noticed she was gone. Only then did I fully realize the implications of the yellow mark; I would never see her again.

Shadow Master

When I stand up from lying on the floor, I may engage in what was once one of my favorite activities, which has now become a challenge to entertain: going on a walk.

And if I'm lucky, the sun will shine, and I quickly may again learn why I once fell in love. Looking around will expose too many perspectives worthy of being painted than I have time to paint.

I'll walk a similar enough route to allow me to fall in love with the surroundings, yet different enough to keep me from getting bored.

One time, while standing in front of these beautifully boring buildings, I did something absurd. I'm still not sure what got into me, but while standing in the hot sun, I looked down, and you'll never believe me when I tell you what I saw -- my shadow. 

But it wasn't just my shadow. Instead of the shadow following me, I felt like I was following my shadow. Devastated by this realization, but knowing I had no choice, I walked the route I was supposed to walk, getting inspired by the perspectives that were supposed to inspire me while thinking about who was leading who.

Helping start a car

Imagine all the people you walk past you don't hear because of your headphones, a task only challenging for those who don't use them (much), but please try.

For me, they're not a tool for isolation, however, it's a nice additional perk. Still, when I hear a stranger asking for attention, I anxiously give it to them.

This one time, a guy in his 'parked' car at the side of a street in Den Bosch told me that because the car hadn't moved in months, the battery died, and he asked me if I could help push start it.

I didn't have anything better to do, so skeptically, I helped him. Together, we revived the car, and while honking, he drove away.

Another person that I'll likely never come across, and even if I did, I wouldn't hear or see.

Innate hero complex

I'm talking to an art collector and explaining my art in a museum. I keep saying these cool-sounding, fascinating sentences. Any question they ask me, I somehow know the perfect response to -- they're amazed by my cleverness.

I turn the corner, and an ordinary (for Den bosch) yet beautiful building that I've looked at a thousand times before but for the first time see appears and slips me out of any other thought I might've had, in this case, what I think is a daydream.

I don't KNOW if it's a daydream, but unlike other thoughts, in all of them, I'm in scenarios where I'm a hero of some kind. It's hard to talk about because it's embarrassing and not something you remember. 

So I'll let your imagination fill in the blanks; it's either grandiose fantasies, what I should say to my colleagues or family when I see them again, or what I should've said in the past.

Seeing yourself waiting

The topic of this art piece is a boring situation. Few people get excited by having to wait. I certainly don't care much for it, but I'll try to convince you why you should.

If you're waiting and look around, you will notice something interesting, at least if you allow yourself to be entertained by the otherwise unremarkable.

This piece specifically was about waiting for the train. Nowadays, I don't take the train often, but I recently wanted to go to the office, so I had to. 

Next to the countless people, which already makes paid attention worth it (nothing else to spend it on either), I also noticed an old lady carrying four bikes, the bluest tomatoes, rain without clouds, a dog walking his human, and a flying train, all just within the one trip.

But the most intriguing thing I've ever noticed was myself on a different platform. As you may expect, I was waiting, and to my concern, I looked bored, like I wished I would be anywhere else (but I couldn't). Seeing myself in that state made me incredibly disappointed.

The keymaker

The apartment building I moved to has an electronic lock that needs a keyfob to open. I only received one, a fact that irritated me the day I moved in, but the rent is cheap, so it's hard to complain.

One day, when I came home from a walk, the front door didn't open anymore, so I went to another that didn't open either. 

I've never felt so vulnerable. Of course, I assumed that my keyfob was the problem, and anxiously I called a keymaker to replace it, who told me I had to come over, which I did.

Surrounded by many large keys, the keymaker skeptically asked me what was in front of my apartment building. I assumed to figure out whether I lived there, and nervously, I thought and, after a minute, crying, I said I didn't know.

The keymaker, now confused, asked me why I was crying, to which I again responded I didn't know before the keymaker told me they ordered my key and I could go. So humiliated, I walked back home to a locked apartment complex.

Happily walking my life away

There are many ways you can travel to most locations you need to go, and there's only one almost universal: walking.

Even though that's an intriguing idea, it doesn't influence my love for the transportation method much.

Frankly, I struggle to understand why I love it so much -- I'm Dutch, so maybe it's because biking is just too prevalent, making walking another way to feel unique. 

My parents think I'm crazy. They also think it's weird that I don't repair my bike or get a driver's license. But I'm content with walking -- toward public transit if necessary.

Walking seems to suit me. I don't move or go outside enough, or rather, I wouldn't if it weren't for walking. There's also so much time in our lives, and a lot of it we waste on dopamine machines; walking is an alright alternative to that.

And finally (and this is a secret), it's how I find all the ideas for my art. I'm not sure who leaves them there, but throughout the city (and surrounding area), someone ditches all these great, free ideas I pick up, which nobody else ever seems to. Maybe they're all too busy to look around.

Blind Guy's World

In early February, I walked into the Citadel in Den Bosch to look at one of the great perspectives of the city. I sat down on a bench, listening to Echoes. 

A little later, a guy I had noticed a minute before found the bench. I assumed he also wanted to enjoy the view.

""I don't care much about the concrete,"" he told me. He mustn't have noticed my headphones, or maybe he didn't care, and because I didn't want to make it awkward and was severely confused, I responded, which I wouldn't typically: ""What do you enjoy?""

I was mostly confused because the perspective we were looking at contained no concrete.

And without thinking, he explained: ""Solid shapes, depth, dots. Colors do nothing for me."" Part of this seems reasonable, but sometimes, when someone gives me a subjective opinion I don't share, I can't believe them. 

Then, I knew it was time to leave. I hadn't been able to enjoy the perspective much since noticing the guy anyway, and now he wasn't making much sense.

I told him he had some good taste and that I had to go. Only when I had left the Citadel and walked next to the water I noticed he was blind -- because while flying away from the bench, he crashed into the bridge.

So, in his honor, I recreated that guy's world, or at least what I could understand from his confusing opinions.

Stairs At Night

Differences in light and visibility change scenes much, and not at all. It's easy to not care about impressive sights and, at the same time, to feel very passionate, maybe even emotional, about an ordinary backyard. 

More so than any changes in the atmosphere, it's a different mindset that can suddenly transform an uninteresting building into a masterpiece.

Often, a change in the scene is just an excuse to look around, and when you do that, looking for great perspectives, they, however impossibly slowly moving, even creep up on you.

And there's no way to preserve it; a picture will never capture the same feelings, as they're part of the mindset, and any description or imitation will be a weak copy (at best). All you can do is enjoy it and maybe be inspired, knowing the great impression this made on you. 

Or, perhaps I'm just bad at what I do -- here are the stairs of the Library in the heart of Den Bosch, shining bright in the dark.

Looking All Ways With My Headphones On

When I'm about to walk homeward from my weekly visit, my mom, after I've just declined her offer to drive me back, says:  ""Be careful, especially with those headphones on.""

If I wanted to die, I wouldn't do it by walking off into traffic, so, of course, I'll make sure to be careful -- looking every way imaginable multiple times. 

Honestly, and please don't tell her this, it's not the headphones that are dangerous; I can hear the cars. It's the hair that, more than my glasses, makes me practically blind.

Sometimes, I make a weird turn, and all roads start going in different directions and dimensions. I still look all ways, but it's quiet, like cars never existed, for the whole 50-minute walk.

Then, the insanity inflicted on me is more dangerous than traffic could ever be. Luckily, when I'm back home, working on my art, I'll forget all about it, and my parents, and the need to look all ways.

Another Bird Over Water

Don't remember or care where, but I noticed a bird flying over water. What a free creature. Do you think it understands the depths it's flying over with such ease? Few do. 

It reminded me of another time (the 16th of September, 2022) when I saw a similar bird flying over similar water, and I decided to draw it (#386).

So now, because of that loser, I have to feel unoriginal about an idea I feel strongly about. But the joke's on that guy, I never was original. Only the insane ever do anything new, and I haven't lost it yet.

And that's the key: accepting there are probably four billion other people who have had the exact idea you feel so passionate about. 

If you're lucky, you'll convince some that you thought it better.

High Water In Den Bosch

I don't know much about many things (like most people). How and why the water inside of Den Bosch goes up or down is one of those things.

Recently, it rained a lot, maybe that's why? But it often rains, and the water rarely consumes the city.

Anyway, so there was high water in Den Bosch, which I walk through frequently, and it was a pleasant sight. 

Some benches I sometimes sit on are now inaccessible because of it. And boats that typically relax on the water are now swallowed up by it.

Sometimes I think about if the rising sea level will inevitably result in much worse consequences for Den Bosch (I guess the Netherlands in general, but who cares about places you never or rarely visit).

There's nothing I can do to help that. So I won't worry about it either. Hopefully, if the water does end up swallowing us all, it'll at least be beautiful.

Finally alone

Being alone is fantastic. Or so I tell myself. 

I'm conflicted, as I refuse to engage in behavior that would result in me not being alone (because I don't want to do those things), but sometimes I get the urge to connect to others.

Even then, it's challenging to be completely alone. In my apartment, where I live alone, my many neighbors, make noise sometimes . And otherwise, the cars driving by would.

If all of those are somehow quiet, there's also still this device that puts sounds in my ears, which I could remove, but what's the point?

One of the ways to fully be alone is to go for a walk in a more secluded area. This painting is inspired by walking past the Bosche Broek. It was cold and dark, and within, I saw a tiny figure who seemed all alone. I was, and still am, jealous.

Hospital At Night

On the outskirts of Den Bosch, close to where I live, there's a great hospital called the 'Jeroen Bosch Hospital' named after the famous painter. It's hard to miss the building when I go for a stroll.

I have no emotional attachment to the hospital as I'm just not that kind of person, but I've got some memories there;

It's the place where I first saw my nephew, Valentijn, after he was just born, the place where I delivered my excrement twice, and where they stole my blood once.

And where, while doing psychedelic truffles with my friend, we got stranded on a bench because my friend was losing his mind. His father called an ambulance (even though we could've just walked). While waiting, I stared at the hospital, trying to stay sane.

I could lie and tell you this painting is about my memories. But it's not.

The extraordinary hospital, when it gets dark, shines beautifully. And that's the only reason why I decided to paint it.

If it reminds me of anything, it's all the sick people in there, some of them barely surviving or coming to the end of their lives as you're reading this. 

You might be able to make a parallel to some of Jeroen Bosch his paintings if you'd like, but instead, I let the building itself entertain me.

Only Light In Window

This time of year is so dark here. I thought the shortest day of the year was a month before it was. I made the same mistake last year. And again, when I realized we would have another month of ever shorter days, it made me incredibly sad.

Regardless, something I now realize I've missed in the summer months is that in the dark world, the lightest parts are the insides of houses.

I might have missed this because I don't go outside that much when it's late, so I don't see the darkness in the summer, or because during the summer, people have a lot of time to realize it's getting dark, so they often close their blinds, and somehow they forget to do it when it's dark earlier.

The result is that now, during my walks, I get to look around and see all the fascinating rooms inside all the buildings. 

End Of The City

"Everything ends, though hard to identify, even cities do, but it's easy to tell that one of my favorite walking spots is on the edge. 

It's not the most peaceful spot in the surrounding area, but probably the quietest while still, maybe technically so, inside of the city. 

There's this great perspective on the beautiful city of Den Bosch, with just before it a highway bringing many people anywhere they need to go. At the same time, if you turn your head, you see this endless sight of birds and green. Which likely isn't inside the city anymore. Who cares about borders anyway? To me, it's the most meaningful part of the city.

And then I get bored and go to the ugly but functioning neighborhood not too far away, happy to be back and to see the many ugly and angry faces."

Coach's Garbage Containers

"When I quit playing basketball, I had played half my life. One afternoon, I realized that the sport cost more effort than I could care to put in. And as I do when I conclude somewhere or with something, I left the game behind: I haven't touched a basketball since or talked to anyone I used to play with. 

A couple of coaches trained me over the years, and honestly, I mostly don't remember them or what they taught me. Whatever it was, it certainly isn't that helpful anymore. 

But, probably my favorite coach, maybe the best, is whose garbage containers this painting is about.

It's pretty interesting, though also very obvious and predictable, how you can meet people you've known in the past in unexpected ways. I hadn't thought about him in years and certainly didn't expect to meet him again.

So apparently, my old coach is an artist who painted these garbage containers, which happened to be on this street I travel past quite often. 

And now, every time I walk by, I take a good look and think about my old coach and basketball, all the people I played with, and how one day, like the sport, I might drop any art I do as well.

The art has meaning, which I connect with, but the context about who created it and how it relates to me inspired me to make something of my own."

Highway

"Humans spend so much time on highways in cars, going to many places, and most often coming back too. While on the road, the perspectives are fascinating but repetitive. But if you're wasting your time away, traveling huge distances, you might as well enjoy whatever repetitive sights you find.

Convincing yourself that the tedious elements of life are fascinating is a superpower that I wish I could tap into more often.

But honestly, now that I don't live with my parents anymore, being in cars is a rarity, let alone being on highways. If I do happen to travel, it's often by train, but I mostly don't go anywhere.

So this painting is more about my perspective when I walk past the highway at the edge of Den Bosch, gazing into the endless roads, enviously thinking about the countless people going by, many of whom I might never see again, who are riding their cars going to many fascinating, or so I presume, places and coming back."

Beautiful Boring LIfe

Like everyone, I'm addicted to keeping myself entertained, meaning I almost always have some video and music playing. Even that often isn't enough, so I also frequently find myself scrolling through social media. 

I like walking, it's another good way to keep myself busy, though even while walking I'm always listening to something. Sometimes, often but not always, while sitting on a bench or during a walk, I remove my headphones, and I sit, look, and listen.

And it makes me feel some weird way that I don't know how to explain, but the best I can do is to call it the beauty of our boring lives.

Tree In Field

While sitting on one of the great benches of Den Bosch, reality hit me; I was out of ideas for things to paint, which often happens as I paint a lot. 

Actually, honestly, I had already realized this at home, which was the cause of this particular walk. It took this bench to inspire ideas, so I wanted to give it more credit.

Nonetheless, after some time walking, I found a bench worthy of sitting and sat down. I documented six ideas over fifteen minutes of concentrated sitting. The two previous paintings were conceived here, and the next three ones will be, and obviously, this one was also.

This idea was about my surroundings at the time. I looked forward and noticed a lonely tree in this intensely large field. It wasn't a great or meaningful idea, but a good enough excuse to paint anyway, so I wrote it down. 

That's the 'meaning' of this piece: a beautiful tree in a massive field from a fascinating perspective that hopefully makes you feel some way.

Art inspired by the tranquil benches of Den Bosch. A testament to the beauty found in simple walks and the muse they provide. A homage to moments of reflection and creativity.

The Bench

Going for walks is one of the best hobbies I've got. It's undefeated not only because moving is healthy for a human (like me) but also because it's a great way to waste time, listen to music, and get ideas for art. 

There are many benches around Den Bosch with beautiful perspectives, or at least sights that have me convinced of their beauty, which is one thing I definitely do thank this city for.

Often while out and about I find myself sitting on one of those benches, with or without a piece of paper and a marker, looking at those beautiful sights. 

It's all meaningless and a waste of time, yet still mesmerizing and, more importantly, inspiring for my next piece of art I can waste even more time on.

This piece is dedicated to none specifically but all of those benches I've sat on before and will sit on in the future.

Explore Zen Dageraad's evocative street scene, where colors narrate a tale of dusk, shadows and a solitary stroll, unfolding layers of soft nostalgia.

Street, Shadow

Embark on a serene yet evocative journey with Zen Dageraad's intimate portrayal of a simple, everyday moment transformed into a vivid narrative. His artwork invites you into a quiet street scene, where a solitary purple figure strides amidst the gentle embrace of a dusky street, its aura resonating with rich shades of green-blue. The figure casts a prominent dark green-blue shadow, hinting at the soft melancholy of dusk, an emotion that is tender yet profound.

As you delve deeper into the frame, your eyes are drawn upward towards a quaint red streetlight, delicately suspended by a crimson thread. The warm yellow glow emanates softly, caressing the cool hues of the surroundings, creating a gentle contrast. Beyond this immediate spectacle, a series of green buildings unfold in varying shades, skillfully layered to offer a comforting depth, enriching the narrative of a simple walk home post a family dinner.

In the seemingly mundane, Dageraad uncovers layers of reflection and soft nostalgia, his color palette rendering the fleeting moments of dusk with a tender longing that is palpable yet comforting.

Experience Zen Dageraad's tranquil landscape inspired by Miles Davis' melodies. Trees in vivid hues meet a vibrant sky. A poetic voyage to peace.

In A Silent Way

Journey into the depths of Zen Dageraad's artistry, a visual ode to the iconic rhythms of Miles Davis. Just as the notes of "In A Silent Way" carry listeners to far-off sanctuaries of tranquility, so does this artwork. Delve into the peaceful sanctuary of nature: trees with ethereal pink trunks and mystical purple leaves stand in graduated prominence. Foremost, a singular tree anchors the viewer, leading to another in the mid-ground, and further on, a distant row completes the triad. The leaves, masterfully segmented in varying shades, exude depth, enhancing the three-dimensional allure. A serene blue swath graces the foreground, flanked by verdant fields, intricately differentiated by shades. Ascend your gaze, and a warm yellow sky awaits, punctuated by fiery red clouds and the gentle flutter of birds. 

Zen Dageraad's artwork captures Den Bosch's railway essence. Vivid red tracks, yellow beams & blue ground shapes accompany a poignant poem on wanderlust.

Railway

In the vibrant city of Den Bosch, an art piece captures the essence of movement and stillness, intertwined with the soul's yearning for adventure. Zen Dageraad, drawing from the hum of daily life, has crafted an image that resonates deeply with the wanderer in all of us. His piece portrays a striking red railway, each section painted with varying intensities, standing bold against yellow beams of light. This scene is further contrasted by a blue ground, meticulously divided into unique shapes, each filled with its own shade of blue. As one gazes upon this vivid depiction, the words come to mind: "watching the tracks, journeys flowing away. Yearning to go, yet anchored still in Den Bosch." This is not just art; it's an emotion, a call to the wanderlust that lies dormant within us.

Explore Zen Dageraad’s artistic narrative as he captures a serene moment of birds flying over the Sint Jan, blending poetic essence with color intricacy.

Birds Over The Sint Jan

Venture into an idyllic realm through Zen Dageraad's serene portrayal of the majestic Sint Jan amidst a charming atmosphere in Den Bosch. The art piece exquisitely encapsulates a fleeting moment, where a flock of birds whimsically graces the sky above the historical edifice. As articulated in the accompanying poem, this artwork resonates with the simplistic yet profound idea of capturing transient beauty whilst allowing it the freedom to flourish.

A glance at the piece unveils the artist's meticulous attention to detail, manifesting in the various shades of orange that intricately define the structure, contrasted against the blue that adorns the windows, door, clockwork, and cross. The nuanced palette extends to the environment as well with the yellow-bricked floor encircled by a touch of purple, under a green sky that harmoniously houses pink birds in flight.

Within this picture-perfect frame, the essence of the poem finds a visual counterpart. The narrative sketches a calm yet liberating scenario, “birds over the saint jan, I just had to capture the moment, still, they are free to keep flying,” resonating a tranquil symmetry between the poetic verse and the illustrative scene.