The phrase “I carry you within me like a wounded bird” comes from the French poet Louis Aragon, taken from his famous poem "Il n’y a pas d’amour heureux". Written amid the chaos of World War II, the poem reflects on love’s fragility, absence, and quiet defiance. Over time, it’s grown beyond just words on a page: it’s been set to music and performed by Georges Brassens and later Françoise Hardy, giving it fresh life in the hearts of many. That line lingers still, gentle and unresolved, like a quiet thought left hanging but deeply felt. We couldn’t help but turn it into a visual piece. Some phrases seep deep into your veins. This one brought a bird along for the ride. We wanted to craft that line into something you could live with, something to hang in your whare or flat. Let it settle softly on your wall, never loud or demanding. The woman in the artwork cradles the bird like a cherished secret. The colours? Warm and inviting, but never brash. Symbolic, yet not heavy. It’s a piece about tenderness, loss, perhaps even love. We’re not here to spell it all out. We just created it, and truth be told, it still sits with us, stirring thoughts. There is no happy love We never truly own a thing, Not our strength, nor our frailty, Nor our heart. And when we open our arms, Our shadow falls like a cross. And when we reach to hold Happiness, we end up crushing it. Our life is a strange and painful parting. There is no happy love. Like warriors now disarmed, Groomed once for greater glory – Why bother rising at dawn? If by evening we still don’t know What we’re here for? Repeat these words and hold back your tears. There is no happy love. My dear sweet love tears me apart; I carry it inside me like a wounded bird. And folks don’t know, as they pass us by, That these words I’ve spun for you fade As soon as they meet your eyes. There is no happy love. It’s already too late to learn how to live, Let our hearts grieve together at night. For the smallest song we pay with sadness, For every thrill we pay with regret, Even a sweet melody we pay with tears. There is no happy love. There is no love without pain, No love that can’t be bruised, No love that won’t fade, Even the love for your homeland. There is no love without tears. There is no happy love. But this love is ours; for both of us! Louis Aragon, 1946 Translation by Dora and Patricia Daniel, 2015