In a private collection. Similar work can be created upon request
“Destiny” is a canvas where silence weighs more than words.
The figure dissolves into darkness, bound not so much to the cross behind it as to inevitability itself.
The cross is barely suggested — not as an object, but as a sign, as a shadow one carries long before becoming aware of it.
The wings are spread wide, but not for flight. They are wings of acceptance — fiery, dense, endured.
There is light in them, and also the weariness of one who knows where the path leads and yet continues.
The body is human, vulnerable, stripped of illusions. There is no heroism here, no pose.
There is truth. The gaze is turned aside — not toward the sky, but toward the road already chosen.
This is the moment when freedom and destiny meet and silently clasp hands.
Here fate is not a punishment.
It is a burden accepted with quiet strength.
Not a call, but an answer.
Not a fall, but a standing — upright, despite everything.
The canvas sounds like an old parable, told by firelight —
about a human who has wings, yet knows that not every flight is an escape.
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“Destiny” is a canvas where silence weighs more than words.
The figure dissolves into darkness, bound not so much to the cross behind it as to inevitability itself. The cross is barely suggested — not as an object, but as a sign, as a shadow one carries long before becoming aware of it. The wings are spread wide, but not for flight. They are wings of acceptance — fiery, dense, endured. There is light in them, and also the weariness of one who knows where the path leads and yet continues.
The body is human, vulnerable, stripped of illusions. There is no heroism here, no pose. There is truth. The gaze is turned aside — not toward the sky, but toward the road already chosen. This is the moment when freedom and destiny meet and silently clasp hands.
Here fate is not a punishment.
It is a burden accepted with quiet strength.
Not a call, but an answer.
Not a fall, but a standing — upright, despite everything.
The canvas sounds like an old parable, told by firelight — about a human who has wings, yet knows that not every flight is an escape.
Lia