In Corde Coeli (78)

A curtain of yellow and green descends from the top of the canvas, like a sky in fusion, letting its glows flow like a rain of light. Below, masses of purple and fuchsia stretch into vibrating waves, crossed by dark branches that recall roots or lightning frozen in place. Finally, deep blue spreads at the bottom, vast like an ocean, welcoming the incandescent fall of colors. The composition reads as a verticality: from the blazing sky to the deep sea, a flow circulates, linking the heights to the abysses. One seems to see a world in formation, or the secret cartography of an invisible energy flowing through all things. Between descent and elevation, the canvas breathes a fertile tension. And if this rain of light were nothing other than the echo of grace—descending to irrigate our inner lands and to bring to birth what still awaits within us?