The artists’ films

I can hear them screaming to be heard. Louder than any human being. They are travelling through their work. Across the rivers and the sea.

Their voices are broken and their eyes are open. They are speaking on behalf of the audience. In low hush volumes, they are uttering syllables of reality.

Suppressed by morals and stuck in juxtaposition. They are discovering a world too broken. They are stopping down to collect the fragments though their fragile yet solid creations.

They have been walking through far away lands. Their eyes tired and their torn hands. Some don’t even utter a word, but I can hear them screaming to be heard.

The artists are reaching out through their work. Beyond borders and futile dimensions. They are expressing their criticisms, opinions and hurt.

I can hear them growing louder with every piece I see. Making an art work of my own private world. They have painfully coloured even my dreams.

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