Comments
Loading Dream Comments...
You must be logged in to write a comment - Log In
ArtistA surreal oil painting on canvas, depicting two open books floating against a deep blue sky with varying cloudy textures. On the left book, two infant babies sit, their backs to the viewer, the entire book balanced on a large, stylized grey letter "A" (Alpha). In the center of the image, between the two books, a large hourglass with a gold-colored frame and a narrow waist is suspended, one side filled with sand that is flowing into the lower bulb, which contains a lit candle and is glowing warmly. On the right book, an elderly man and woman, both seen from behind, sit on a grey stone bench, the entire book balanced on a large, stylized grey Greek letter "Omega". The books have vibrant red spines and numerous white pages, some of which are curled or fanned open. The scene evokes themes of life, death, knowledge, and the passage of time.Style by Zdzislaw Beksinski x Ernst Fuchs x Gustav Klimt
From beginning to end stretches the quiet arc of existence, inconspicuous yet unstoppable. Alpha and Omega are not opposites, but two breaths of the same moment. In the beginning lies not only the first step, but already the premonition of the last, just as in the last glance there always rests an echo of the first wonder. Between the two lies the lived measure of time, not as a line, but as a circle that closes again and again without ever fully repeating itself.
The child on the open pages is not merely becoming, but a promise. It sits on the still unwritten text of the world, unsuspecting and yet full of possibility. Every breath, every first word, every touch adds a line to the book. Time doesn't drip hastily, but gathers silently, grain by grain, in the invisible hourglass of our inner selves. We call it growth, experience, memory, but in truth it is the slow learning that nothing can be held onto.
At the other end, the couple rests on a bench, not in stillness, but in arrival. The pages beneath them are written on, crumpled, read, and reread. There is no loss there, but rather intensification. What was once the future is now the present of looking back. Hands holding each other speak louder than all the sentences in between. Time has not stolen them, but shaped them, just as water does not destroy stone, but gives it its final form.
Between Alpha and Omega stands the hourglass, not as judge, but as witness. It measures not life, but consciousness. Every fleeting moment is equally precious, whether it shines at the beginning or flickers at the end. The candle inside reminds us that time only becomes light through meaning. Without this inner fire, it would be mere movement without significance.
Perhaps the end is not the opposite of the beginning, but its fulfillment. Perhaps we misread our lives if we only try to understand them from beginning to end. For what we truly are only emerges from the interplay of all aspects. Alpha is the courage to begin. Omega is the stillness of having arrived. And in between lies the quiet miracle that we were even allowed to read.
