Here winter has descended not as cold, but as a vow.
Two little owls, nestled into one another, rest on a branch dressed in frost. Their feathers are steeped in patience,
in that ancient wisdom that neither hurries nor cries out. Their eyes — deep, awake, all-seeing — look upon the world
as it was before humankind and as it will be after.
That the canvas is a palette is no coincidence. It is the artist’s working altar — the place where colors were born
and have now taken form. The thumb hole remains like a small window toward the hand that held the brush — a reminder
that art always begins with touch.
The branches are covered in icy tears. Drops frozen between falling and staying. They weigh, yet they do not break.
As winter weighs — and still does not break life.
In these two birds there is something more than nature. There is fidelity. There is union. There is a silent “together”
that needs no explanation. This is a painting for cold times, when it is not the strongest who survive, but those who
keep one another warm.
A winter icon — not for the eyes, but for the heart.
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Here winter has descended not as cold, but as a vow.
Two little owls, nestled into one another, rest on a branch dressed in frost. Their feathers are steeped in patience, in that ancient wisdom that neither hurries nor cries out. Their eyes — deep, awake, all-seeing — look upon the world as it was before humankind and as it will be after.
That the canvas is a palette is no coincidence. It is the artist’s working altar — the place where colors were born and have now taken form. The thumb hole remains like a small window toward the hand that held the brush — a reminder that art always begins with touch.
The branches are covered in icy tears. Drops frozen between falling and staying. They weigh, yet they do not break. As winter weighs — and still does not break life.
In these two birds there is something more than nature. There is fidelity. There is union. There is a silent “together” that needs no explanation. This is a painting for cold times, when it is not the strongest who survive, but those who keep one another warm.
A winter icon — not for the eyes, but for the heart.
Lia