If the greatness of everything a pure soul can accomplish was unveiled to all, nobody would even notice, for the colors of such an apparition would be myriads of hues unknown to the man of the cities, so beautiful that they would blind fools by their vivid brightness. The soul that is drawn to this eurhythmic web is able to discern shapes heralding how it will shed the vileness lurking inside to become a fulfilled and true spirit. Gris is what can be glimpsed from these miraculous fractals. It is the shore of a new continent where we want to land, as well as the vessel that will carry us there. It is a phoenix that must be tamed and ridden to plunge into the depths of this painting of which we only see the sumptuous frame. It follows, through each of its chapters, the pathway of the human soul through each stage of deliverance. It is the balance between all forces and vibrations overwhelming us, the essence of spiritual freedom, a railway without a path, as one must be built without predefined beliefs. Gris is agnostic for all that caresses and scratches us. None know if our vision is corrupted or true. Within each of us lies a heart of iron tarnished by fear and emptiness, and each of us must build his own pathway since he is his own train. Thus, Gris is the wood and sweat with which we build our path, as well as the formula that will allow us to transform our own hearts into gold.