The Oracle

In the ardent silence of the universe, a veil opens. A blazing cloud rises, and within its folds a word lies hidden. It is not a word spoken by the mouth: it is a light that speaks itself. Each gleam, each flow, each vibration is a word of eternity. The Creator did not grant the oracle a human voice, but a language of fire. Thus, the canvas does not merely display colors: it prophesies. It announces that behind the veil of chaos, a secret harmony keeps watch. That the invisible always bears a face, even if veiled. Yet let us not expect to decipher a written message! The oracle does not impose—it calls. It invites the beholder to become a reader of light, an interpreter of silence. For the truth it carries is no fixed answer, but an infinite opening. Perhaps you will see a dawn, perhaps an ending. Perhaps a birth, perhaps a passage. Each gaze discovers a new prophecy. For the oracle does not foretell the future: it reveals the present transfigured. It whispers to the viewer that the universe is not empty, but inhabited. That every spark is a sign, that every color is a revelation. It does not promise certainty: it offers mystery. And therein lies its greatness—and its truth. Thus, the Oracle is not a painting: it is a threshold. A threshold between us and the infinite, between matter and spirit.