In Corde Coeli (13)

A blaze of light sets the canvas aflame: oranges and reds surge like torrents of celestial lava, bearing a primal energy. In counterpoint, deep greens and marine blues form a mysterious foundation, a depth from which shadowy shapes or roots seem to emerge, as though the earth itself were reaching toward clarity. Between the two, flashes of violet and turquoise open passages to the invisible, reminding us that creation is never univocal but plural, vibrant, unpredictable. The composition breathes like a luminous fracture: on one side, the solar brilliance that consumes and illuminates; on the other, the fertile abyss that holds and protects. The eye drifts into this tension, suspended between descent and ascent, between fire and water, between shadow and radiance. Here, every color seems to inhabit a silent prayer, as though the universe were holding its breath at the moment of being born anew. And if the true heart of the sky revealed itself precisely in this fragile in-between, where opposites cease to oppose and give birth to infinity?