Probably by a combination of colors, but this print responds and excites in me with my grandmother's dress, which she sewed for herself, and then circled in it in front of me and asked, well, is it beautiful? I knew my grandmother only until I was 10 years old, and therefore, all the memories of her are a collection of poems. All our childhood memories seem to be such - colorful, short, and which we many times repeat inside ourselves, twirl beads, examining one or the other side, in the hope that we have not noticed and discerned something else there, and that revising the memory this time we will see it in its entirety.
