Oil on Belgian linen canvas.

W 100 x H 100 x D 3.2 cm.

“After saying good bye to my dear helpers, Torca, old and blind, who gave me the flames of tree ceremony, Zar, strong and tall, who gave the smell of the bear talisman and finally Archon, small and old, with silver blue eyes from the Cechua jungle, who buried me under the Oak tree. My boat passes now the small glade next to the river, where we sat around the ghuni. The city is far yet visible and huge from sky to sky. The river roars with accelerating speed towards the valley.”

Oil on Italian linen canvas.

W 70 x H 70 x D 2.2 cm.

Inspiration comes as a gentle command. Every night the shower of inspiration overwhelms the mind. I keep silent during the day, keep under the clutter of intellectual moving. Thinking is moving. In Nature there are no straight lines or perfect circles or equal distances. But the mind sees what the eyes cannot, and the moving with the mind is straight, and perfect and equal. When I woke up the morning this picture was in my mind, for a split second with infinite detail. I dedicated the day for executing without plans and ideas. In contentment.

Oil on Belgian linen canvas.

W 100 x H 100 x D 3.2 cm.

Surprise in the mind. A continuous brokenness is hooked onto the inner hearing. Threads of thoughts are whirling and shapeshifting into a coherent one-after-the-other. I call all her names. Majestically present in this love that overrides the mental processes, the hush-hush and blah-blah. What do you want to say? Repeating the blah-blah. There is only one I can say, the silence with you. Filled with vastness. Gentle and soft I-know-it-all-ness. All the intersections are arising only because of the projection from a higher dimensional space. Consciousness collapses directed by a soft being-at-home.