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- Slide: 1
- Oh,How ridiculous… People look at me and pity me for being hungry. For them, food, clothing, and others’ opinions are the meaning of life. But they are not alive. They merely exist by habit. I am alive — because I live for myself.
- Please, come here!
- Slide: 2
- Struve leans slightly forward, his palms open, speaking angrily to Strickland. His face is tense with fury, his eyes full of resentment. He can’t understand Strickland’s lack of humanity. He wears a thick coat and a scarf wrapped around his neck, but his expression and words burn like fire.The narrator stands between them. He listens silently, trying to understand both sides. His eyes shift from Struve to Strickland, searching inwardly for the right thing to say. But he remains an observer — attempting to stay neutral.
- Slide: 3
- I am ready to paint until the end of my life. This is the only world that feels true to me. Sickness, poverty, loneliness — none of it matters, as long as I have a brush in my hand
- Strickland sits alone in a small, dark attic in Paris. The room is cold and empty, with only a bed, a chair, and a canvas in front of him. He is sick and weak, but his eyes are full of passion. He paints with strong, fast strokes, forgetting everything around him. This poor attic is his whole world. He doesn’t care about comfort or money — only his art matters. In this moment, he is free.
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