words: Jamie Milton

Flame from a candle lights up the derelict room. An aging, decrepit man sits alone on a piano stool, his instrument’s keys barely visible, his thoughts barely coherent. He sits in this near-darkness for some time, contemplating what’s been and gone and what lies ahead. He dreams of a woman to dance with. He also requires a stranger to play the songs that he’s been playing, so that he can fix his eyes on the woman, waltz with her until the evening passes. But all he truly owns is his stool and his keys. And so life goes on.

‘The Departure’ epitomises the most lonely sort of melancholy; the sense of nothingness; the insects on the walls. Lest we ignore the fact that it carries such beauty that any breaking of sadness that erupts in its presence is overwhelmed by an appreciation of Anna Brønsted and her quite special achievement. 

Our Broken Garden - The Departure 

(Source: thelineofbestfit.com)