23

"23"

Acrylic, gold leaf, mixed media, 2023

And they flew out of the looking glass,
carrying on their wings the imprint of what had been lived,
and it was impossible to avoid it,
no matter how hard you tried to shake off the aftertaste from velvet wings.
They had to find themselves here — in the present —
gathering all the fragments of their soul into one whole,
to dance anew and learn to live differently...

This is not a painting. It’s a mirror.
Not an external one, but an internal one.
One where faces are not reflected, but distortions are clearly visible.
It doesn’t tell you what happened —
it shows what was neglected.

Love does not boast or puff itself up.
It does not behave rudely or seek its own.
It endures everything, believes everything, hopes for everything.
It is not a feeling — it is a form.
And it is this form that became the standard,
against which everything done carelessly gains a different meaning.

In the looking glass, butterflies take flight.
Not as a symbol of lightness,
but as a sign that the process has already begun.
Not everyone will see it. Not everyone will acknowledge it.
But the one who recognizes themselves —
will no longer be able to look away.

This is not a list or an appeal.
It is a silence that reveals
everything that was meant to remain hidden.

The painting explains nothing.
It does not ask, does not call, does not promise.
It simply exists —
and within its boundaries, each
meets that
which has long been set in motion.

The butterflies are flying.
Carrying on their wings the imprint of what had been lived.
And it can no longer be brushed off.