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Stoneage Man. It is warm outside, a beautiful day of spring. |
| The Clan. There is a joy in painting people. Dreaming up somebody and watching as he takes shape on the canvas in front of you by means of your own skill. So I painted many people here. |  |
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Borian. Illustration of the fantasy world of a friend of mine. |
| The Wanderer. The way is long and dusty. Lonely. He walks on and on, a stranger to those he might pass or meet. A stranger, almost, to himself. Walking on and on, the best way to find time to think, and to maybe find some peace at last. Somehow or somewhere. |  |
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Looking for the Intruder. It's well past midnight, and it has been a long day. But she couldn't sleep, for there was danger outside, coming closer. And suddenly sounds: intruders arriving, banging on the door, crashing through it. She is coming down to meet them, but probably not in a way they are going to appreciate: She will be defending her home. | |
| The Fanatic. There is only one thing left for him, his belief. The world is a twirling mess of craziness. |
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Lady. |
| The Crack in the Ice. Suddenly, the surface gives way under the feet. What seemed firm is suddenly fragile. What waits below, what is beneath the familiar? |  |
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The Lion. |