ENTRY DESCRIPTION
There are so many souvenirs in the eyes of a praying mantis. This one deserved to be portrayed, as if it were an illustrious person, an explorer perhaps. Unfortunately an explorer already dead. This year, despite the confinement and the air less polluted than usual, I did not see any mantis in the garden. I am afraid that one day the insects will be just shells pinned on the velvet behind the windows, in the museums that children will visit. May be they will also have photos where the praying mantises will look them, straight in the eyes.

AUTHOR
As a child, I was found to be too sensitive, too shy, always in the moon. Then I spent a part of my life at the university as a researcher in microbial ecology. When I realized that the sensitive part of myself was far behind me, I was exhausted, like swimming upstream in the cold water of reason and efficiency. So I left my scientific clothes to put my dreamer's skin back on, and I started to paint, write and take pictures again. It was like immersing myself in the warm waters of the Pacific Ocean.

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