The drawing was done at 10pm, the painting – in the morning after.
It is like a very big puppet. The head is too big and heavy in the composition. The mechanism is old. It stood outside in the rain and plants started growing on it in some places. You can almost hear the clunking of its mechanism, the screeching of its rusty metal, in friction with other rusty parts. It used to be very beautiful. Some of the paint is still there.
The face is stubborn. Even though parts of it have fallen off, it still insists on moving forward. It works without an operator. It used to be the fascination of the community. Now it only walks alone, with much effort and nobody is watching. It is hard for it to move. The screeching is terrible.
Thinking is the essence of its engine, the oil and the fuel.
And now I know who it is: It is my autopilot.