The blue hour was always when the magic happened, that fleeting time after the sun dipped but before the night settled fully, where the warm hum of streetlights flickered against the pale concrete of Eastern European buildings. Our sunkissed skin still carried the warmth of the day as we darted barefoot across patches of grass, the air buzzing with cicadas and the faint scent of dust. Mischief found its perfect timing then—leaping off swings, chasing shadows, or daring each other to explore corners of the block our parents would soon call us away from. You’d hear the echoes of their voices bouncing from open windows, summoning us one by one back inside.

This illustration captures that liminal moment, its loose, painterly brushstrokes echoing the raw, untamed energy of those evenings. The figures seem to glow with the last golden remnants of sunlight, contrasted against the deep blue of the sky and the blurred outlines of familiar, imposing apartment blocks. The drawing exudes the hazy nostalgia of a 90s analogue flash photograph, that imperfect yet poignant way memories hold onto light, color, and motion. It’s a piece that feels alive, like an intimate snapshot from a childhood summer, where everything seemed infinite, just before bedtime always came too soon.