A spontaneous story of just some lines, late at night.
It’s late in the night and the small bright room is already full with steam. The plastic curtain is barely to see though it’s right next to the body, which being washed, absorbing the water.
Some lines on the low ceiling are clearly shaping the face of a man with a moustache. I am amazed to discover late in the night that secret observer and visitor, who is my company for the night. It’s the only thing I can see inside that little room filled up with steam, reminding of another forest covered with fog.
Lignes invisibiles 