Silence bloom in the confessional pictures

confessional picture 2010

When I was taking the pictures, I tried to compose all I saw in my viewfinder properly from aesthetics viewpoint. That was natural (looked like the ABC). The miracles started later, when I was browsing through my sketchbook. Not I labeled my handicrafts but my deeds looked at me. I recognized my whole life in these colors.Is that possible?
When we talked about the symbolism of the art, everything looked clear, yet the discovery of the searching glance from the hole on a pathway home gave me a good shake. So while art should please the eye, I sit in an awe looking at the garbage. Is it me?