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A breve i miei lavori in vendita su Muuseum
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Giulia Neri

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Waiting for something different
Waiting for something different
Waiting for something different
Waiting for something different
What do we need to see to be happy?
What do we need to see to be happy?
What do we need to see to be happy?
What do we need to see to be happy?
Love is a difficult game
Love is a difficult game
Love is a difficult game
Love is a difficult game
When the destiny is not helping
When the destiny is not helping
When the destiny is not helping
When the destiny is not helping
How can we get out of a complicate relationship?
How can we get out of a complicate relationship?
How can we get out of a complicate relationship?
How can we get out of a complicate relationship?
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.”
And finally came a July made of heat and books
And finally came a July made of heat and books
And finally came a July made of heat and books
And finally came a July made of heat and books
Where do the unwritten words go?
Where do the unwritten words go?
Where do the unwritten words go?
Where do the unwritten words go?
How can we forget?
How can we forget?
How can we forget?
How can we forget?
giulia.neri67@gmail.com
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