A Still Point of Offering

Prayer did not begin when the image was painted, but when the surface itself was prepared. The canvas was given an energetic and material foundation before any form appeared.

The first layer of gesso was applied and left to dry under the Summer Solstice, allowing the light of that longest, most open day to settle into the fibres of the canvas. The second layer followed during the first full moon after the solstice, bringing sun and moon into quiet balance. From the beginning, the work was held between celestial bodies — not as symbolism, but as timing, presence, and orientation.

The base colors were laid down under what I experienced as the steady presence of the Council of Trees. During this phase, the process felt less like directing and more like listening — a dialogue moving through body, brush, and the unseen mycelium network beneath the forest floor. Painting became an act of atonement rather than execution.

From there, the image was built slowly.
First the night.
Then the fire.
Then the movement of light, gradually revealing form.

The wings of the figure are composed of real leaves, gathered, preserved in glycerine, and dried by hand before being carefully integrated into the work. Each leaf carries its own history — not added as ornament, but as willing material, participating in the image’s becoming. Nature is not depicted here; it is physically present.

At the heart of the composition lies an inner axis: roots, body, leaves, and light extending upward and inward toward the Andromeda galaxy. The galaxy is not distant or external; it mirrors the internal cosmos reflected through water, body, and sky. What appears above also exists within. The figure becomes a meeting point where earthbound matter and vast cosmic structure align.

As the work developed, the figure changed — and I with her. What emerged was not struggle or force, but a soft awakening. The figure does not look outward, but inward. The circle of light behind her, the orange glow, her posture — all speak of strength that grows from stillness rather than assertion.

Prayer is not narrative, nor ritual illustration. It holds a state of presence.
For me, it represents a homecoming — a symbol of allowing oneself to become who one truly is. A reminder that even the deepest transformation begins with a single, gentle, attentive breath.

This work carries the energetic trace of an entire year: solstice light, full-moon water, tree wisdom, mycelium connection, and my own process of becoming visible.

Prayer was not only painted.
She was born.