A tear-shaped sea, shining, opposite Pentadaktylos and Agia Eirini, the entire Bay of Pentageia, the fertile golden fi elds of the village. The passage of the Xeros River (‘xeros’ in Greek means dry) but the euphoria of the place shows that it is anything but dry. A blessed place. I painted from the terrace of a restaurant, at the next table two Turkish Cypriot men, drinking ouzo for hours, drunk, they ask me: ‘What did you vote, for or against the plan?’ Before I can answer, ‘we are all doomed’, they say. It seems to me that their whole soul is crying.
