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When I was a little child - maybe just three years old - I had an obsession with red motorcycles.

I used to sit for hours with motorcycle magazines, just staring at the pictures. The shapes, their colors, were the coolest thing I knew.

Then, suddenly, I was sent to have a surgery, and had to stay in the hospital for few days. during my stay, all I had were those magazines - and they occupied me all day long.

When I was released from the hospital, my Grandma wanted to surprise me - so she bought me a real life-size red motorcycle (on a battery) that I could ride on.
She placed it smack dab in the center of the living room so that I'd see it when I entered.

And the moment I saw it, I immediately ran out of the room, crying. I was terrified of the encounter with the real thing.

It took me weeks to be brave enough to approach the motorcycle once again.

In a way, my relationship with images hasn’t changed since then.