Sung Kim Mediterranean Terrace painting

Sung Kim Mediterranean Terrace paintingSung Kim Mediterranean Arch paintingSung Kim Log Cabin Retreat paintingSung Kim Hidden Beach painting
started toward the bathroom door, his attention was drawn again to the movement of his vague and distorted reflection in the clouded mirror above the sinks.Then he saw the impossible shape, which brought him to a halt.In the mirror, under the skin of condensation, loomed a pale form as blurred as Ethan’s veiled image but nonetheless recognizable as a figure, man or woman.Ethan was alone. A quick survey of the bathroom failed to reveal any object or any fluke of architecture that the misted mirror might trick into a ghostly human Imagination. Of course.But then this man, this dragon, whatever—it moved in the mirror. Not much: a little, enough to make Ethan’s sledgehammer heart stutter between blows.Maybe the movement also was imaginary.Hesitantly he approached the mirror. He didn’t step directly in front of the phantom form, for in spite of shape.So he closed his eyes. Opened them. Still the shape.He could hear only his heart now, only his heart, not fast, but faster, [106] sledgehammer heavy, pounding and pounding, slamming blood to his brain to flush out unreason.Of course his imagination had given meaning to a meaningless blur in a mirror, in the same way that he might have found men and dragons and all kinds of fanciful creatures among the clouds in a summer sky.