Mounted on Pinolithmagnesit · Porcelain · Underglaze & Overglaze Paintings · 24ct Gold
There are memories that do not want to be solved. They only want somewhere soft to lie. Somewhere beneath language, beneath all the noise of becoming, where they can close their eyes without being forgotten. This figure belongs to such a place. A field inside the soul where red poppies and blue cornflowers grow beside one another, carrying everything the heart could not hold alone.
The poppy knows how to descend. It carries us inward, toward sleep, dreams, surrender, and those quiet chambers where sorrow becomes almost weightless. People once placed it in the hands of sleep and beside the mysteries of death and return. Perhaps they understood that forgetting and remembering are not opposites. That sometimes the soul must lower something gently into darkness before it can bear to touch it again.
The cornflower remains above, blue and watchful. It remembers the wounded healer, the one who knew how to care for pain even when it could not be completely removed. It remembers the small blue flowers placed with the dead, fragile gestures of tenderness surviving longer than kingdoms, longer than names, longer even than grief. A blue so clear it does not promise that nothing will hurt. It only promises that something gentle will stay.
And so the flowers meet upon her. The poppy carries what must rest. The cornflower keeps watch over what must not be lost. Red and blue, dream and clarity, surrender and devotion. Two different ways of loving the same wounded, beautiful life.
Beneath her, Pinolithmagnesit holds pale, seed-like forms inside dark stone. It looks like a night that has already begun to germinate. Like a field waiting beneath the earth before anyone believes in spring. The stone knows that transformation does not always arrive as light. Sometimes it begins silently, under pressure, inside darkness, where no one can see that the shape of everything is already changing.
Maybe the soul blooms like this too. Not by leaving its sorrow behind, but by giving it roots. Not by becoming untouched, but by becoming tender enough to carry what happened without disappearing inside it. Poppy, cornflower, stone, breath. Rest, remembrance, healing, return. Again and again and again.
This figure wanted to remember that the quiet places within us are not empty. They are fields. That every part of you which has gone silent may simply be waiting for another season. That the soul has its own way of returning, softly and impossibly, through colours, through dreams, through the smallest blue flower opening beside the red.
trust the quiet places in you. they are already blooming.
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