What about this piece?

To see the piece click here.

When you make or do something by just being, the outcome won’t always present itself right away. We’ve explored this deep trust before — in pieces like the drawing Rebirth or the poem it snowed in April.

But let’s zoom out. That’s exactly what this text does — and what happened with The Four of Disks. My narratives sometimes become so meta that I lose sight of what started me in the first place.
So let’s begin with the furthest relevant element I can capture. The canvas.

It was a breezy summer’s day. I entered my ‘playful mode’ — a space without any expectation of creating something for a public. A secret folly.
First came the colors: yellow, green, blue, white, magenta.
Then came the form. Strokes of parallel, perpendicular, closer and further away. Texture.
Then the shapes, the meaning, the story.

When the freedom of not caring became, I listened to its interpretation of it all.

In the most contradictory of ways, I had created the first component of The Four of Disks. But why did that name come to me — specifically ?

I remember being 14 years old and pinning a trinity of tarot cards on one of my bedroom walls. Among them was The Four of Disks.
In the Thoth tarot deck, this card is imagined as a fortress viewed from above. Four solid walls, creating a square. In each corner, another symbol appears, representing the elemental forces that govern our reality: air, water, earth, and fire. These are the towers.
The fortress is encircled by a moat, separating it from everything beyond.
At the bottom of the card, a single word appears — its keyword. My deck was in French, so it read Puissance, which translates to Power in English.

It’s a simple card. And in its simplicity, also rigid.
Not much different than the concept itself.

So this is what I saw, after letting the paint, the gold, and the gems hit the canvas.

I usually (but always leaving the door open to another way) don’t have to think long and hard about a piece’s meaning. Even asking the question seems unnecessary. Just being curious about it offers up the answer.
Something in me clicks, and if I don’t doubt that sensation, that’s the one that sticks.
The core.
Its layers, however, continue to build upon themselves — just like with this piece. What once seemed finished still had so much more to tell.

After figuring out what the painting was trying to communicate, I decided to photograph it. I didn’t deem it spectacular – on the contrary. Yes, I liked the colors and the movement. Yes, I liked that it made me remember something that once meant a lot to me and — better yet — reimagined it.
But I didn’t think it had anything more profound to say. Just that: artistic freedom.
A beautiful idea, but not endless.

(I should know better by now: when I think this way, it’s usually rooted in either arrogance or ignorance — whether it’s about people, experiences, or anything else in existence.)

Through automatic motions, the piece found its place next to a metal wall decoration in the form of a Sun.
Honestly, I was just looking for a nice spot to capture it.
The Sun’s face is blissed out, and at the same time, not necessarily aware of the wonder around it — or maybe that’s where its bliss comes from.
Does the Sun think of all the things it illuminates, or does it just happen?

And then I remembered: even the tarot card I was referencing has yet another symbol at the top.
The Sun.
How did I even forget?
And what a coincidence to have it appear again.

The Four of Disks is a card of stability, security, the solidness of material reality.
But like any tarot card — or concept, or word — it simultaneously, silently points to its opposite:
Too much control. Too much attachment. Inflexibility.

So I beg the question:

How do we bridge that gap?
How do we stand in the middle of our safe squares — the ones that keep our boundaries and lives protected — without falling prey to getting stuck?

For me, the answer is curiosity. An openness.
To look up at the Sun and wonder…
“How would it look at me?”