The Artist is no monster. He is a regular man who is capable of unconditional love, just like he was taught to. He loved nature and the world so much that he can’t bare violence and corruption. He never understood that reality is made of different layers; some layers are better left quiet and unseen. Preaching honesty and on the other hand, hiding the truth.
On the contrary, he is a one-dimensional man, built of one dimension and that is love. His love is the stormy flooded kind, just like an endless pouring rain, or an erupting volcano. His love is like a starry night, infinite and dark, yet twinkling with lit dots. Hence, his fight against human pain started. Just like winter covers lands with snow killing plants so they can blossom again in spring. Winter doesn’t dislike flowers; it adores them so it is essential to kill them. Only nature understands this kind of love.
It was his love that brought him to this place surrounded with beautiful gardens. It is the house of the misfits. Residents here are very different from one another. Some people call it a hospital and some others, an asylum. But this place doesn’t fit anywhere; it has no name.