Jericho Roseaf Ole Petersen

At the end of the aisle at the altar in the open church, the figure was sitting with his back to Jesus Christ on the cross. His arms outstretched at full length, tied to the railing, held up by plastic strips, whose white color contrasted the priest’s black gown. The legs were crossed while the head was hanging down, the red eyes and the smile between the drops of water on the bald shiny head was laughing at you sardonically. The dark drops on the floor led past an empty tube of lipstick to the calm water of the baptismal font. A pair of glasses were lying at the bottom, on the surface life was fighting its way back, absorbed into the Jericho Rose.