Green Violinist (By: Marc Chagall)

Our mother nature is not so cruel, it has created this piece of wood and the human the music, here the musical notes born inside you, send me into ecstasy, the gravity is no more a force, I can fly, my dreams are no more confused but clear like the sun.

I can play music even on the rain-soaked roofs, with my shoes of real leather, and that dog, attracted by the smell of leather.

I struggled to get up here, I am at the centre of the life, under my shoes there is Paris and above my head Vitebsk.

My personality in confined in my body, but with the mind I can fly to my lovely town, observe the inhabitants, the houses, the streets and boulevards, and back to Paris with the joy inside my hearth, now my rural village and Paris is the same thing.