Quintessence (625)

In this painting, color bursts forth like incandescent sap, carving its veins into the dark matter. Deep black, like fertile soil, opens into turquoise and violet bursts, as if a spring were welling up from the entrails of the unseen. Orange touches, like solar seeds, scatter and cling to the fluid walls, promises of blossoms to come. The eye lingers on the iridescent cells, fragile alveoli where the primal breath seems to throb. Each zone vibrates with a singular energy: the upper part, light and milky, breathes air and brightness, while the lower part, dense and violet, bears the weight of buried mystery. Between the two, a path emerges, formed of rivulets and colorful fissures, like a river of eternity linking heaven and earth. In this cosmic germination, light is not conquering but humble: it slips in, mingles, lets itself be absorbed by matter before being reborn. It reminds us that nothing is sterile in the eyes of the Creator—not even the darkest shadow. Each burst becomes a testimony of life, a silent word inscribed in the flesh of the world. And if, at the heart of our own darkness, there also lay a light ready to bloom?