“Crying in the Rain” by Whitesnake has been transformed into a drawing.
Here the face does not just stand behind the rain — it dissolves into it, becoming the very drops themselves, as each tear loses its individuality and becomes part of the collective, endless fall.
The gaze is calm, almost resigned. There is no longer a struggle — only awareness.
This is that moment when one understands that pain is as natural as the weather, and that nature — the rain, the wind, the sky — does not ask why you suffer, it simply includes you in its cycle.
And how human this face is, sculpted from lines that resemble drops,
as if the artist did not draw with ink, but with the rain itself —
drop by drop, grief by grief.
This is not just “Rain.”
It is the rain of memory, which does not wash away, but reveals.
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“Crying in the Rain” by Whitesnake has been transformed into a drawing.
Here the face does not just stand behind the rain — it dissolves into it, becoming the very drops themselves, as each tear loses its individuality and becomes part of the collective, endless fall.
The gaze is calm, almost resigned. There is no longer a struggle — only awareness.
This is that moment when one understands that pain is as natural as the weather, and that nature — the rain, the wind, the sky — does not ask why you suffer, it simply includes you in its cycle.
And how human this face is, sculpted from lines that resemble drops, as if the artist did not draw with ink, but with the rain itself — drop by drop, grief by grief.
This is not just “Rain.”
It is the rain of memory, which does not wash away, but reveals.
Lia