home alone

I was a week home alone. 

I bought myself flowers and went to an art museum.

These lines where painted by Piet Mondrian. 

What I love about the painting is the cracks on the white surface. 

The imperfection in perfection, created by time.

I had heard from my art teacher in high school that Max Ernst made some rough paintings.

I had never seen this side of him.

I was walking  and smiling in Tate Modern surrounded by these pictures out of school books.

I made a selfie on the Gerhard Richter Mirror Painting.

I got home. 

I burned my scented candle, 

read a book about Tove Jansson, ate a Fazer chocolate bar

 and drank zen tea I had gotten for Christmas.