In Corde Coeli (58)

A deep green covers the canvas, vibrating like a vegetal mantle or a sky saturated with filtered light. At the center, white flashes emerge, bordered by dark branches spreading like phantasmagoric trees rooted in a world of pigments. Touches of incandescent pink and blazing orange appear in the midst, recalling living embers beneath the canopy. Below, blues and violets unfold in liquid cascades, evoking a river in perpetual metamorphosis. The composition resembles a landscape in transformation—between earth and sky, between forest and torrent—like a dreamed world in perpetual birth. The eye is invited to wander these colored paths, to climb mountains of ink and lose itself in valleys of light. Every detail is at once root and star, matter and spirit. And if this inner landscape were the reflection of an invisible kingdom—one where nature itself sings the memory of the sky and reminds the soul of its divine lineage?