I have passed a small village nestled between the mountains of my first Grecian island. Where the pirates might have never been - not on a horseback as I would have preferred for myself, but by modern conveyance. But don't mistake me, cause all the magic still remained. Experiencing freedom and liberation as I whizzed along, in a cooling breeze and then, for some reason I had to stop in Agalas. Isn't it wonderful how some places feel familiar and comforting at once? Even by passing through? I couldn't park my two wheeler on my own, too heavy even for the strongest pirate, honestly! so I drove on to call for help, eventually walking back to 1796. I saw myself digging - excited by the fact that behind the effort lay heritage - exhausted by almost 40 degrees. But really chuffed. Story making. Really love doing this - imagining how on this very patch of soil which I am treading on, someone has been standing centuries ago. There! Exactly. But under such different circumstances. I get a glimpse, I think. It is so intriguing. I admire determination. A body taking the time and labour without questioning the outcome. An unusual and true soul who feels a connection to the past This soul has passion. And so I imagine that he will keep going, keeping it all alive. And so I imagine oil pastels and oil on canvas - again. Antje UK/Germany