The painting entitled “At the Gate of the sky” is a composition born from the silence between worlds. The work captures the place where beginning and end meet, where human destiny draws close to the breath of the divine. Through this composition, I sought to render an inner geography, a conceptual map of passages between worlds, within an open space an expanse of sacred breath belonging to an empirical reality in which the soul can hear its own echo.
On the left side of the composition stands the silhouette of a contemplative spirit, seated upon a sacred mountain, elevated like an altar detached from the vault of the sky an Olympus of memory or a Golgotha of rebirth. He gazes upon the world from within the shadow of divinity, in a nocturnal stillness that suggests that intermediate space in which souls wander between existences. He is a guardian of passage, a presence born from the shadow of the divine, where spirits pause before dispersing once again into the cycle of rebirth. Beneath a deep and mysterious sky, clothed in the vault of stars, I conceived the Gate of Spirits as a refuge of being after separation from matter a resting place for souls, where they await the call of destiny in order to take form once more, to enter another incarnation, another experience of palpable life. In this vision, souls are living energies of memory, consciousnesses awaiting the moment of recall. On the right side of the composition, I embodied the archetype of motherhood: the Madonna and Child. Her gaze is not directed toward the earth, as it might seem, but toward the Gate of the sky, toward the origin of the light that made possible the very life she holds in her arms. Both look, in secrecy, toward the divine roots from which they descended. She carries within herself the beginning, but also the promise of return, for every birth is, at the same time, a remembrance of the lost paradise. This scene is, in essence, an homage to motherhood and a recognition of woman as bearer of destiny, as a living link of creation on earth.
Between these two symbols the contemplative divine on the left and the luminous maternal presence on the right lies the heart of the composition: Mother Nature. Around her appear, like two ancestral echoes, Adam and Eve: Adam on the left, rendered in intense, earthy tones; Eve on the right, in luminous and warm hues. These two presences are the anchors of the beginning, symbols of the polarity necessary to existence.
Rising between them stands Mother Nature, a profound and stable silhouette, represented in deep blue. She is a deep entity, with a rounded form, eternally gestating, carrying within herself the pulse of the universe. She is the bridge, the matrix in which the spirit of the sky and the life of the earth intertwine. From her fluid body, Adam and Eve emerge not as individual characters, but as primordial vibrations: one of ignited clay, the other of raw light the two breaths of the same essence through which existence can begin. Among all these figures opens the Gate of Consciousness a threshold toward spirit, divinity, motherhood, nature, and the beginning of humanity simultaneously closing and opening the passage between worlds. Through this symbolic construction, inspired as well by reflections on genesis, I sought to express the tension between the immaterial and incarnation, as well as between the eternal and the ephemeral.
Through the painting “At the Gate of the sky”, I attempted to describe both a physical gate and an inner one a passage of self-awareness toward its own origin. It is a search for the path toward the light of paradise, understood as a lost or dispersed state of the spirit. In essence, it is a vision in which souls return to remember where they come from and where they are heading, from this ephemeral purgatory of matter, perceived as a necessary stage of rebalancing scattered light.
This is the symbolic passage between silent worlds and spoken worlds, between what we are and what we are yet to become, whether or not this process is fully consciously perceived. “At the Gate of the sky” was conceived as a profound meditation on the cycle of life: the path of the spirit that descends into matter, traverses the experience of existence, and, through transformation, aspires to return to light.
Through the lens of this work, I did not attempt to offer definitive answers. Ultimately, no one can possess an absolute truth when it is confined strictly to imagination and, at most, hope, the hope that beyond this ephemeral life, in this purgatory generically called “earth,” there exists a continuity or a new existence. Through this work, I evoke rather a path one among many possible thus inviting the viewer to contemplate their own becoming and their relationship with what lies beyond the visible, the palpable, and even the conceptual.
At the same time, this creation represents an attempt to capture the uninterrupted sacredness of existence in a visual form as pure as possible, an invocation of experiences, thoughts, and visions that may not have been fully revealed even to me, yet demanded to manifest in this form, in this transient life. It may be seen as the image of a place where divinity breathes and the soul finds its echo; a call of light toward itself, where spirit is reborn and life begins to vibrate before breath becomes existence.
In essence, this visual concept does not represent divinity, because divinity cannot be represented. Rather, it expresses the painful distance between humanity and its own origin, that space of tension in which consciousness knows it has descended, but no longer fully remembers from where. I believe that the light of the spirit is not a “gift”; it is a lost memory that refuses to be forgotten.
The composition translates postures of hope, assumed as responsibility. It suggests that every gate opens only from within and that not all souls are prepared to pass through. Those who seek only beauty will remain on the surface; those who seek meaning will be tempted to remain in balance with light and to follow their path.
In the language of the visual arts, there are creations we believe we choose, and others that, in a mysterious and perhaps ironic way, choose us, whether we are creators or collectors of beauty in this existence. Although this work could be dissected in countless ways through explanations and suggestions, it does not ask to be fully understood; it can instead be filtered through the deep experience of the spirit and through each individual’s capacity to perceive essence rather than detail. “At the Gate of the sky” does not necessarily belong to the time in which it was created, but to that inner time in which the viewer accepts being alone with oneself.
If, when standing before it, discomfort arises, or a question, or the need to return, then the gate has opened. Because this is, ultimately, a test of patience, of memory, and of the courage to accept that light is not freely given. It reveals itself only to those who dare to remain long enough before the mystery, which demands to be perceived with the soul, not with the mind.
“I do not crush the corolla of the world’s wonders,
and I do not kill with my mind the mysteries I encounter along my way.”
— Lucian Blaga
Additional Details (Studio Confession)
The process of creating this work unfolded in two distinct stages, separated in time yet united by conceptual continuity and strong inner coherence. In total, the creation concentrated over 700 hours of work perhaps closer to 800 gathered in periods of total immersion, marked by sleepless nights, isolation, and an almost ascetic studio discipline.
The first stage, carried out over approximately three to four consecutive weeks, involved a daily working rhythm, including weekends, with sessions of up to 16 hours or more. At times, the work stretched from one sunrise to the next. During that period, life narrowed almost exclusively to the studio space, with only strictly necessary exits; the rest of the time was consumed by the construction of this vision. It was a kind of suspended time, lived entirely so that the painting could come to life from a revelation related to genesis, identity, purpose, and spirit.
The scale of the work and the compositional complexity required meticulous execution, carried out in three distinct layers of oil, with extremely fine brushwork, comparable in size to a 000 or 0 brush, thinner than a sewing needle. Translating a vision nonexistent in the real plane, from a monumental blank canvas into an exuberant palette of colors and defined forms, represented one of the greatest challenges undertaken up to that point, not only as a technical exercise in itself, but also as a test of will, concentration, and artistic maturation.
If the simple act of painting a large surface, such as a door, in just two colors already requires considerable effort, one can understand what it means to construct a complex visual narrative calligraphic, symbolically layered with constant attention to chromatic balance, perspective, and meaning, using brushes of seemingly absurd dimensions. Behind this painting lies an invisible effort, a “behind-the-curtain” labor in which every detail was somehow negotiated between intuition and rigor.
The second stage of the work took place several years later, in the year of its completion. Although initially estimated to last only a few days, the finishing phase unexpectedly extended over more than a month. This period brought the definitive closure of the composition a reconciliation between the initial vision and the maturity accumulated over time. Throughout this process, I constantly sought natural light, moving the easel together with the painting in the morning to one position in the studio, and at sunset to another. At night, I worked under artificial lighting composed of six sources three warm and three cool alternating light temperatures to simulate, as closely as possible, the natural cycles of the day. In the mornings, I returned to the details completed during the sleepless nights, checking them in daylight to ensure that chromatic balance and contour finesse remained coherent.
In my case, painting is not merely a visual act, as it might appear, but also a form of existential communication. The image sometimes becomes a pretext through which I translate thoughts, ideas, visions, and states of being. The author’s description accompanying most of my works is not a later addition, but a distinct and natural extension of my creative process; without one, the other could not fully exist. The text completes what the pictorial image suggests, and the image supports what language cannot fully articulate, thus closing the work in its essence and totality.
The shaping of this description itself required several days of struggle, clarification, and searching, until a coherent structure was formulated one capable of closing the circle of the work in a form intelligible and faithful to the original intention.
This work remains, to date, my most demanding and “tormenting” creation certainly not only through the volume of labor involved, but also through the density of experiences and time condensed within it. Beyond what can be perceived visually, the painting implicitly carries the imprint of a period of life lived entirely for the act of its creation, charged with tensions, questions, and revelations that demanded to be exorcised and fixed in matter. Thus, the work acquires a less ephemeral life, meant to traverse time and space even when I will no longer be.
As a testimony suspended between time, space, and essence born from the searches of a spirit positioned between light and darkness, complete solitude and exuberance, between the ephemeral and the eternal.
