Category: Arts

Amidst the chill of the winter ache A little flower is able to break Through the thickest sheets of frost To show the world the life it had lost. A snowdrop, appearing there so frail Yet courageous enough to brave the hail.   A few white petals, alone in the cold, Such a small flower, yet very bold; Enough to inspire the others to grow, Shining hope for a life after snow. Soon will triumph the sun over the night Awakening again after the harsh winter bite.   Oh! How…

The colonial giant has pillaged and destroyed everything in its passage in its quest for power, never sparing anyone. Even our art was not safe from its greediness. Today, as the former colonizers hide behind the mask of a repentant angel, they continue to profit off of the stolen art that was taken from us centuries ago.  In 2020, Mwazulu Diyabanza, a Congolese political activist, marched into the Louvre and took an African artifact from the museum, in an attempt to bring it back to its rightful owners. He was…

It’s an uneventfully cold day in February. Even though the sun shines brighter than usual, the frost bites through my skin and freezes the moisture on my eyelashes. I walk by the Gouin boulevard. Last night had been cruel; the wind was howling in the dark sky and the snow accumulated quickly. Transports have been restricted throughout the entire city. Without any people around to play in the snow or vehicles to crush and soil it, the boulevard becomes a vast expanse of fresh powdery snow, shining the sunlight straight…

The Victorian era was marked by many paintings such as Rossetti’s “Proserpine”, Millais’ “Ophelia” and Hunt’s “The Awakening Conscience”. However, “Roses of Heliogabalus”, painted by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema in 1888 is the one I prefer. It depicts a remarkably facetious scene, the scandalous party thrown by Heliogabalus, or Elagabalus. Heliogabalus was a Roman emperor who rose to power at fourteen years old and was assassinated at eighteen. His short reign of four years was punctuated with numerous scandals, one of them being the banquet during which he drowned his guests…

It was dense. Dark mist rested on our heads with a soft delicacy while we were invaded by the overwhelming silence. Sitting there, unable to see beyond the cracking sound of rusted rails, my partner and I were waiting for the train that would take us to our final destination (or so I thought). Between the silence and the cold night’s atmosphere, our only source of sanity was a silent, meaningful (or insignificant?) conversation that was sustained with the passing of a bottle of wine, an exchange of lived experiences…

Part 1.   Some of you will probably think that this story is complete nonsense, while others will find that it is something inspiring – there is no accounting for taste. In any case, I hope that those who will read the four parts of the story will understand the hidden message of the events that I will describe… I wish you all a pleasant reading.    Iris was going down the stairs of a music store; she liked just to come there and watch the pianos. The girl knew…