There was this bouquet on a corner of the desk table. The flowers were haunting and you could believe they were watching my every move. To put an end to this floral voyeurism, the idea of painting the irises seemed good. But, even now, when the light is complicit, we can see the flowers following with the gaze that observes them while passing in front of them. Sometimes, the soul of things migrates into the paint without us being able to explain the phenomenon. We then say that the painting is alive, and no one is worried about it. Should we?