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A breve i miei lavori in vendita su Muuseum
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Giulia Neri
The strain of showing happiness

The strain of showing happiness

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
It is just a matter of perspective
It is just a matter of perspective
It is just a matter of perspective
It is just a matter of perspective
On The Wall Street Journal
On The Wall Street Journal
On The Wall Street Journal
On The Wall Street Journal
An ordinary day
An ordinary day
An ordinary day
An ordinary day
Why do people always seek happiness in another place?
Why do people always seek happiness in another place?
Why do people always seek happiness in another place?
Why do people always seek happiness in another place?
Illustration for Elle DEcoration NL
Illustration for Elle DEcoration NL
Illustration for Elle DEcoration NL
Illustration for Elle DEcoration NL
Why do people sometimes create problems for themselves
Why do people sometimes create problems for themselves
Why do people sometimes create problems for themselves
Why do people sometimes create problems for themselves
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.”
Someone's bad luck might be someone else good luck
Someone's bad luck might be someone else good luck
Someone's bad luck might be someone else good luck
Someone's bad luck might be someone else good luck
When your life is tight
When your life is tight
When your life is tight
When your life is tight
giulia.neri67@gmail.com
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