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My vision of desert of soul. The emptiness occupied by strange creatures, creeping in vain through a hot sand. Without destination, without sense. There is no water here, no moisture in the hopeless landscape. Dust is everything and everywhere. Aimless strives for perfection, wisdom or wealth lead to the same - to emptiness. Unfortunate soul clutter by senseless things, futile desires and burnt emotions. Dried souls cry for a droplet of rain, it means for a bit of love. The great, cold, and merciless owner floating over the misty horizon. This Angel is like Hope. He can bring even a heavy rain.
I have painted this picture in spring 1993. Few year later I have written the poem which is a other form of previous thought.
The Sand Angel rising his wings,
hiding dried face in his hands.
In this Realm of Drought
merciless heat tighten its claws
around silence of death afternoon.
Endless glare burn my eyes
And The Angel of Sand
slowly floating over the horizon
looking at his pitiful land.
Land - where ubiquitous sand
grate in my mouth,
clog up my eyes,
crunch under my shoes,
always the same horrible sand.