Isle of Nines

In the village where I grew up, there is a quiet custom: whenever someone passes by the church, they stop for a moment, raise their right hand, join three fingers to recall the Holy Trinity, and gently touch the forehead, the stomach, the right shoulder, and then the left shoulder.

So many people have walked past this church over the years. So many have paused, bowed their heads, and allowed their soul a brief moment to breathe.

For a long time, I struggled to paint the church. I kept treating it as just a building, and the result always felt empty and lifeless.

This time I painted it ablaze. And that feels right: the church burns with our passions, a living place where heads bow and hearts open.