Godly Flower

In the quiet of the studio, a single flower rolled — unhurried, unintentional — and came to rest at the foot of a figure on my table. In that small, wordless moment, a lifetime of memory unfolded.

Temples visited across Asia. The cool stone underfoot. The hush that falls over a crowd the instant they step inside. And always, always — flowers offered at the feet of gods. Bright against ancient stone worn smooth as its surface carries the weight of centuries, of prayers whispered in languages now forgotten. Yet at its feet, the flowers are fresh — vivid, alive, because devotion does not age.

The god changes with every country, every continent, every threshold crossed. A different face, a different name. But the gesture remains the same. The colours in this painting breathe with longing. Warm, layered hues that carry the weight of wishes. Every shade is a prayer someone dared to bring to a doorstep not entirely their own, leaving behind the most tender thing they had.