It was a long summer afternoon. Trying to get focused, her eyes now stuck on the lines.
Just a few minutes�she thought, laying her head on the open book.

�but I don�t want to get rest, I�m just not tired! She said. Come on sweet pea.. just a few minutes, he said, his eyes narrowed like the times he wanted something. Laying her head on his arm, he covered her cold ear with the other hand. Her hands were even colder, but not after she grabbed his sweater, besides it could keep her from falling off the sofa.
But a tiny-shiny Christmas pine is not something I�d tat on a big mohair sweater like this.. she thought right before falling in sleep.

�when she opened her eyes, the dark was sucking up last drops of the daylight, and a gray sweater with a childish Christmas pine on it was the only thing she could remember from a faint dream, which with every second was fating away..




Blotter; (1993)249 x 199 cm; oil on canvas; Peter Doig