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A breve i miei lavori in vendita su Muuseum
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Giulia Neri
drive, baby drive

drive, baby drive

November
November
November
November
You have to learn to let things go
You have to learn to let things go
You have to learn to let things go
You have to learn to let things go
When everything moves in one direction,try to change your point of view
When everything moves in one direction,try to change your point of view
When everything moves in one direction,try to change your point of view
When everything moves in one direction,try to change your point of view
When you are hostage of your own public image
When you are hostage of your own public image
When you are hostage of your own public image
When you are hostage of your own public image
Home is where you are
Home is where you are
Home is where you are
Home is where you are
The nuns and the blu sky
The nuns and the blu sky
The nuns and the blu sky
The nuns and the blu sky
The girl who drew the clouds
The girl who drew the clouds
The girl who drew the clouds
The girl who drew the clouds
When nothing was more important than us
When nothing was more important than us
When nothing was more important than us
When nothing was more important than us
She is my mother. During my childhood, I saw her dry her hair under this strange noisy helmet and read as if nothing could disturb her. From her I learned to love books. I have never seen anyone read so much. She must have a world inside her, a world that I have only seen in passing.”
She is my mother. During my childhood, I saw her dry her hair under this strange noisy helmet and read as if nothing could disturb her. From her I learned to love books. I have never seen anyone read so much. She must have a world inside her, a world that I have only seen in passing.”
She is my mother. During my childhood, I saw her dry her hair under this strange noisy helmet and read as if nothing could disturb her. From her I learned to love books. I have never seen anyone read so much. She must have a world inside her, a world that I have only seen in passing.”
She is my mother. During my childhood, I saw her dry her hair under this strange noisy helmet and read as if nothing could disturb her. From her I learned to love books. I have never seen anyone read so much. She must have a world inside her, a world that I have only seen in passing.”
How much can we bear?
How much can we bear?
How much can we bear?
How much can we bear?
giulia.neri67@gmail.com
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