現實與虛幻之間的翻譯者 A translator of the in-between-Jane

Jane's world is not bound by sharp lines or distinct colors. Instead, it melts like the soft pastels of a morning sky, blending one memory into the next, much like the faint yet vivid recollections she seeks to preserve.

2024.09.17

在一個臉龐模糊、記憶流轉的世界裡，珍是以太之間的守護者。她的名字，輕輕地寫在風中，徘徊在被遺忘的瞬間邊緣。她不再僅僅是一位肖像畫家——她是介於現實與虛幻之間的翻譯者，是穿越時間柔和色調的引路人。她的手指輕輕劃過那些幾乎被遺忘的輪廓，將那些徘徊於此世與彼世之間的身份低語喚醒，賦予它們生命。

珍的世界不被銳利的線條或鮮明的色彩所束縛。相反，它如同晨曦的柔和粉彩，將一段記憶融入另一段，正如她試圖保存的那些微弱卻鮮活的回憶。當她遇見一幅肖像時，她的角色不是去定義，而是去傾聽。她聆聽那帶有喜悅的薰衣草和玫瑰色調，聆聽那些未曾說出的故事的微妙痕跡，還有那些光影閃爍中隱約透露出的靈魂深處。

她遇到的每一幅肖像，都是一段旅程——不是進入那個人曾經的模樣，而是進入他在人們記憶中存在的方式。珍明白記憶是脆弱的，常常被時間模糊，被情感柔化，並染上經歷的色彩。她的任務是收集這些分散的碎片，那些熟悉的淡淡觸感，並將它們編織成一個完整的故事。

在這幅特定的肖像中，色彩如霧般變換，過去的邊界逐漸消融，珍感受到了一位被珍愛的女性的存在。她的微笑柔和，她的眼神暗示著未曾講述的故事，她的氣息是對美好生活的輕柔讚頌。珍知道，她的名字並不需要被記住——她留下的感覺，將會在那些曾經認識她的人心中永遠停留。

In a world where faces blur and memories shift, Jane is the keeper of the ethereal. Her name, written softly in the wind, lingers on the edges of forgotten moments. She isn’t just a portrait artist anymore—she is a translator of the in-between, a guide through the soft hues of time. Her fingers trace the delicate outlines of what is nearly lost, breathing life into whispers of identity that hover between here and there.

Jane’s world is not bound by sharp lines or distinct colors. Instead, it melts like the soft pastels of a morning sky, blending one memory into the next, much like the faint yet vivid recollections she seeks to preserve. When she encounters a portrait, her role is not to define but to listen. She listens to the muted tones of lavender and rose that tell of joys once felt, the subtle smudges that reveal stories left unsaid, and the soft glimmers of light that hint at hidden depths of the soul.

Each portrait she encounters is a journey—not into the person as they were but into the person as they exist in the memories of others. Jane understands that memory is fragile, often blurred by time, softened by emotion, and tinged with the colors of experience. Her task is to gather these scattered fragments, the light touches of familiarity, and weave them into something whole.

In this particular portrait, where colors shift like mist and the edges of the past dissolve, Jane feels the presence of a woman who was cherished. Her smile is soft, her eyes hint at untold stories, and her aura is a gentle celebration of a life well-lived. Jane knows her name isn’t needed to remember her—it’s the feeling she leaves behind that will linger in the hearts of those who knew her.

My name is Jane.