Ordinary things

Oil and acrylic in underpainting on high quality canvas

size 60 x 60 cm

unframed

On an old wooden table, bearing the scars of all those years of ordinary life, lay a cherry. The only one, but perfect. It glistened in the afternoon light and smelled of summer, the kind of summer when you open the window wide and hear only the creaking of the boards and muffled sounds from somewhere in the yard. And just then, a bug set off on a journey across the table. A small, unhurried, somewhat funny traveler who stopped at the cherry, as if she saw the whole world in it. She didn't work, she didn't rush, she wasn't looking for anything big. It just followed the color, the scent, the quiet curiosity. Like us when we pause for a moment at something beautiful that has no reason to be so beautiful. At that moment, everything slowed down. Time sat down on the edge of the table, stopped ticking, and just quietly watched as the little creature approached the fruit that perhaps no one would eat. Maybe it's just lying there for that moment. For the memory of the years when we ate cherries straight from the branches and got sticky fingers. It was a completely ordinary moment — a cherry, a bug, a table. And yet there was something delicate and fleeting hidden in it. A reminder that even the smallest images of our day can be little celebrations. That beautiful things don't just happen on vacation, but also in the quiet of the kitchen, in the dust of a sunbeam, in the moment when a bug stops at a cherry and the world takes a different breath for a few seconds.

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)