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Description
The boy and the fox are sitting with their backs to us.
They’re looking at the moon, not at us. A rose stands nearby, the planet has holes, a scarf flutters. This isn’t a copy of Saint-Exupéry. What remains is the reason the book is read again: someone is waiting, someone is watching, someone has one planet.
From a distance, a golden disk against blackness.
Up close: craters, the fox’s fur, a golden streak on the moon. The edges of the canvas are painted over; it hangs even without a frame.
In the bedroom and living room. He wants a calmer wall. The lamp lifts the moon; the blackness lets it be night. Original