Bloom in Collision

Imagine an ancient ground — geological layers formed over time, compacted with history, pressure, and silence. Suddenly, through these heavy strata, a force begins to push upward. Not stone, not sediment, but something softer, living — petals.

The thick strokes of paint are like tectonic folds, yet within them, delicate colors bloom. The lavender arcs open like unfolding petals; the yellows flare like bursts of sunlight piercing stone; the earthy maroons swirl like veins of minerals. The background, mottled green with dark circles, feels like fertile moss and spores, hinting at underground life.

It becomes a story of resilience — growth where growth seems impossible. Flowers don’t just grow from soil — they find cracks in rocks, edges of cliffs, even the smallest space to unfold.

This painting captures that tension between heaviness and softness, permanence and fleeting bloom. The petals are not delicate here — they are thick, sculpted, powerful, almost geological themselves. They claim their space in the world, no matter what layers try to contain them.