2020 | Oil on canvas | 90x120 cm
MOTHER
OF THE FOREST
OF THE FOREST
«I know this forest. And that is why I cannot watch its pain be called an accident.»
2020 | Oil on canvas | 90x120 cm
MOTHER OF THE FOREST
«I know this forest. And that is why I cannot watch its pain be called an accident.»
At the center of the composition is a she-bear risen on her hind legs, like a human who has stepped out before the viewer not to threaten, but to bear witness. Her figure is the image of the Mother of the Forest: ancient, patient, wounded. One flank is scorched — the trace of a fire that does not distinguish where nature ends and human guilt begins.
The space around is shrouded in smoke. The fire growing in the depth does not look like an accidental element — it reads as the result of accumulated choices. In the foreground are stumps — mute, yet eloquent. They become the key to what is happening: the cause of the fires here is not heat and wind, but a decision made in advance to destroy, clearing the land for logging.
The raven — a traditional symbol of karma — is present as observer and judge, reminding us that every action has consequences, even if they do not come at once. The she-bear looks straight ahead, without aggression and without pleading. In her gaze there is weariness, dignity, and the knowledge that the forest's pain long ago ceased to be only the pain of nature.
The painting appeals not to fear, but to responsibility. In an interior it becomes a powerful semantic center — a work that does not decorate a space but makes it speak.
The space around is shrouded in smoke. The fire growing in the depth does not look like an accidental element — it reads as the result of accumulated choices. In the foreground are stumps — mute, yet eloquent. They become the key to what is happening: the cause of the fires here is not heat and wind, but a decision made in advance to destroy, clearing the land for logging.
The raven — a traditional symbol of karma — is present as observer and judge, reminding us that every action has consequences, even if they do not come at once. The she-bear looks straight ahead, without aggression and without pleading. In her gaze there is weariness, dignity, and the knowledge that the forest's pain long ago ceased to be only the pain of nature.
The painting appeals not to fear, but to responsibility. In an interior it becomes a powerful semantic center — a work that does not decorate a space but makes it speak.
At the center of the composition is a she-bear risen on her hind legs, like a human who has stepped out before the viewer not to threaten, but to bear witness. Her figure is the image of the Mother of the Forest: ancient, patient, wounded. One flank is scorched — the trace of a fire that does not distinguish where nature ends and human guilt begins.
The space around is shrouded in smoke. The fire growing in the depth does not look like an accidental element — it reads as the result of accumulated choices. In the foreground are stumps — mute, yet eloquent. They become the key to what is happening: the cause of the fires here is not heat and wind, but a decision made in advance to destroy, clearing the land for logging.
The raven — a traditional symbol of karma — is present as observer and judge, reminding us that every action has consequences, even if they do not come at once. The she-bear looks straight ahead, without aggression and without pleading. In her gaze there is weariness, dignity, and the knowledge that the forest's pain long ago ceased to be only the pain of nature.
The painting appeals not to fear, but to responsibility. In an interior it becomes a powerful semantic center — a work that does not decorate a space but makes it speak.
The space around is shrouded in smoke. The fire growing in the depth does not look like an accidental element — it reads as the result of accumulated choices. In the foreground are stumps — mute, yet eloquent. They become the key to what is happening: the cause of the fires here is not heat and wind, but a decision made in advance to destroy, clearing the land for logging.
The raven — a traditional symbol of karma — is present as observer and judge, reminding us that every action has consequences, even if they do not come at once. The she-bear looks straight ahead, without aggression and without pleading. In her gaze there is weariness, dignity, and the knowledge that the forest's pain long ago ceased to be only the pain of nature.
The painting appeals not to fear, but to responsibility. In an interior it becomes a powerful semantic center — a work that does not decorate a space but makes it speak.
