After following the hands of the clock -- tick tock in circles, like a man chasing a woman for ages, always reaching after her every hour, and her, always strolling along the clock's face as it was a city where she strolled along the sidewalks with leisure steps while holding an umbrella in hand and wearing a hat that complements her hourglass silhouette and a dress from the 1800's -- my eyes continue watching the clock on the wall.
As I watch attentively, I wonder if the minute hand is that man? and the hour-hand is that woman who strolls along time with an elegant posture, flirting graciously as she walks the streets greeting the minute-hand and the second-hand as they try to catch up to her?
She is a lady of firms steps. She doesn’t seem to stop for anyone. She strolls along the sidewalks exploring her surroundings, every hour seems to be one corner of her life, a rendevouz where she meets two man. The second comes first, then the minute arrives to stay when the second is gone. To later, be alone altogether.
And as I watch the clock on the wall, I realize - it's midnight, now the hour, the minute, the second, the family of time, have become one.
A surrealism bridging between dd to Salvador Dali, yet, maintaining your identity as a imagination puppeteer . I guess it would be hard to find out how crafty you hold the puppets together for those who are not attuned to surrealistic dreams