Heavenly Harvest

At the heart of this celestial field, the ears of wheat do not grow from the earth but rise into the azure, nourished by light alone. Their bluish stalks seem to merge with the air, their blazing grains tinged with red, gold, and purple, reminding us that every harvest is an offering. Here, matter no longer weighs down: it dilates, evaporates, spiritualizes itself. The wheat becomes a metaphor of abundance and transcendence, sheaves suspended between earth and infinity. One senses an inverted cycle: not from soil to sky, but from sky to soul, as though the spirit received its own harvest. This painting makes of the harvest a sacred rite. Each knife stroke evokes the rustle of wind through invisible fields, each burst of color a fervent prayer. The Wheat of Heaven does not belong to our granaries: it nourishes memory and faith, the invisible bread of dreams and poets.