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Acrylique, feutre, stylo à bille sur papier. Acrylic, felt, pen on paper.

“I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.” -The Darkling Thrush, Thomas Hardy

Added Jan 11, 2022

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