A woman sits in the penumbra, waiting.
Her face is half-livid, half-expressive. Her two small black eyes are lost in the hues of whites and blues. In front of her left hand, on the white tablecloth is a bowl of milk. She sits on a white chair, illuminated by a bright light. She is trapped in a square, sitting quietly, staring into space.
Her entire head and body is covered by a white linen. Protected by her veil, she contemplates the opal moon shining through the window, and she stands still, waiting.
Blended in a rainbow of whites and blues, she is lost in her own thoughts. Her mind travels time and space, creating chaos in her head, yet she appears serene and majestic. She is the woman in white, confined in the blue corners of a cubic space, and she is waiting.
Waiting for deliverance, redemption, a soul to talk to, a comforting presence to relate to. The woman’s destiny seems uncertain. Her stature and the faith she exudes, has us staring at her face, her eyes, her hand, the bowl on the table, the linen, the chair, and the corner, also waiting.