Marcel Proust. One of my favorite writers, whose books I brought with me (not all 7 books, because in my time it was not possible to find them all, not translated), so some I got here, in English. I had one sentence of his, I copied from the book, hanging on the wall of my studio for years, thinking, it is so perfect for painting, it is painting in words, one day I will paint it. About morning in the mountains, red highlights on the horses backs and gold on the helmets, and fog, and hope, long sentence, like most of his. Unfortunately I don’t know French, to read it in original, to be able to understand and enjoy fully. Twenty something years later I still didn’t paint it.
I used ink for this drawing. And it has a faint shimmer in some spots, which scanner didn’t pick up.