"Aurora" captures the exact moment when something hasn't yet happened but is already happening. That threshold between night and day, between waiting and presence.
The sun is still hidden, trapped in a layer of grey-yellow hovering over everything. But the light doesn't wait. It's already happening in the red kniphofias (torch lilies) burning like live embers in the foreground. They don't receive light — they emit light. They're focal points of chromatic heat in a landscape still suspended, refusing to wait for the sky to decide to wake.
The composition works in three planes of depth: the pink flowers in the background (St Theresa roses, mallows), the grey-green mass of intermediate vegetation, and the orange-red kniphofias in the foreground, raised like autonomous flames. The aurora doesn't come from the sky. It comes from them.
The title is precise: aurora is transition, threshold, the moment between. And here, what protagonizes this transition isn't the distant sun — it's the flowers, rooted, present, burning their own colour before any celestial permission.
The oil pastel technique creates dense, almost tactile textures. You can feel the humidity in the air, the thickness of the vegetation, the heat contained in the red flowers. The brushstrokes are gestural but controlled, building volume without rigidity, depth without illustration.
This is an honest work. It does what it has to do without romanticism, without effects — only with colour, texture, presence. And that can be felt.
