This painting is a powerful allegory of human civilization—its exploitation, destruction, and the cyclical nature of historical processes. It reveals a system where power, the people, victim, and executioner are mere cogs in a mechanism that endlessly turns, changing only its masks and roles.

The Great Mother as an Archetype of Sacrifice and Creation
At the center stands a woman with six breasts—a symbol of motherhood and fertility, but also of absolute sacrifice. She embodies the Earth, both nurturing and suffering; the god who offers himself in sacrifice; the woman society consumes. The stigmata on her hands reference Christian symbolism, yet the bloody inscription whore on her chest creates a duality—she is both goddess and harlot, mother and object of violence, the great creator and a trampled entity.
Her submission is terrifying: she does not resist, does not fight back, but simply accepts her fate. This reflects how humanity exploits the Earth, women, motherhood, and life itself, without considering the consequences.

A System That Devours Its Own
From her body extends an umbilical cord connected to a creature in a nest—an ugly, screaming infant. It is an allegory for the next generation, already born deformed, a mutilated product of the system. Nearby are jars of artificial milk, symbolizing the replacement of the natural with the synthetic, the illusion of choice where people consume what is given without questioning it.

A gray cardinal, a figure with a bloodied mouth holding a glass of blood, represents the unseen power that feeds on suffering and human energy. He remains in the shadows, unnoticed, yet he is the true master of the system, while rulers and the people are mere decorations.

History Repeats Itself
A crumbling wall bears the Latin inscription Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate—“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” A direct reference to Dante’s Divine Comedy and the entrance to Hell, it suggests that society exists in an endless hell of its own making, with no way out.
At the base of the wall is a pile of skulls, echoing Vasily Vereshchagin’s iconic war paintings, symbolizing the victims of wars, revolutions, and ideologies. A child holding a knife and a dead puppy represents the loss of innocence, the moral decay, and the normalization of violence.

Beside them, a stand displays masks of Karl Marx, Lenin, and Trotsky—flayed faces rather than mere disguises. This is a statement that faces change, but the mechanisms remain the same. History repeats itself, shifting ideologies and leaders without altering the fundamental structure of power.

The Mechanism of Violence and Dehumanization
A grotesque executioner, fat, headless, with a claw for a hand, represents the soulless machinery of the system. He acts without emotion, without ideology, simply because it is his function. This is the embodiment of an automatic, systemic violence, stripped even of ideological justification or malice.

The Brain as a Battlefield for Consciousness
Behind the Great Mother, a brain is visible, with whales emerging from a crack in the matrix. They leave behind pink, healthy tissue, while the areas they have not yet touched remain gray and lifeless, riddled with black veins.

The whales—symbols of freedom and deep knowledge—fly through the rupture in the matrix, hinting that an escape exists, though it is only beginning. This is a vision of awakening consciousness, a glimmer of hope that minds can be freed from systemic oppression.

The Illusion of Power
A worker standing on a ladder with his foot on the Great Mother represents the people—believing themselves to be in control, yet remaining part of the same system. He towers over others but remains a cog in the machine, his perceived superiority meaningless.
Meanwhile, the gray cardinal, though lower in position, remains in the shadows—the true power. A reminder that real control is never where it seems to be, and those who rule the world are never the ones in the spotlight.

"Great Mother" is not just a depiction of horror and suffering—it is a profound metaphor for the modern world. It speaks of the cyclical nature of violence, of exploitation as a mode of existence, of the fact that faces change, but the system remains the same.
It raises the questions:
▪ Who truly controls this world?
▪ Is there a way out of the system?
▪ Can consciousness be awakened? And who will be the whales that cleanse the mind from the gray rot?

The painting forces the viewer to think, to feel unease and pain, but at the same time, it offers a faint trace of liberation. It speaks not only of destruction but also of the potential to break free—even if through a crack in the matrix, through an awareness of one’s role, and an attempt to escape the endless cycle of this self-perpetuating hell.

The central figure is not a victim in an ordinary sense.
It is not even a human being.
It represents a primary energy — living, luminous, blue.
Not physical, but metaphysical.
It is larger than those who restrain it. Even in a bound state, its scale exceeds theirs.
The kneeling posture does not signify submission, but a temporary suspension.
Hands tied behind the back, straps around the body, eyes and mouth covered — these elements symbolize the blocking of will, sight, and voice. The soul is not merely restrained; it is deprived of contact with reality and the right to speak.
The cork sealing the crown of the head is a powerful symbol.
A stream descends from above. The source exists. The connection with a higher level remains present. Yet the channel is deliberately blocked. The flow has not disappeared — it is simply prevented from entering.
This is not the absence of light, but an artificial isolation from it.
The hose emerging from the back of the head represents a parasitic system.
It is not destruction, but extraction.
The soul is not being killed — it is being milked.
The blue substance pumped into spherical containers represents concentrated energy: consciousness, attention, talent, faith, love — everything that makes the soul powerful.
The small figures behind are not specific individuals.
They are structures.
Though smaller in scale, they are more active. Some hold the ropes, others tighten the straps, while others maintain the reservoirs.
They symbolize systems — social, ideological, traumatic, technological — that appear “human,” yet fundamentally possess no soul.
The most important element is scale.
Despite being bound, the soul remains larger.
It radiates light. It is the source.
They are merely the service personnel of its energy.
The painting is not about the weakness of the soul.
It is about the fact that greatness can be temporarily paralyzed, but never diminished.
And that parasitic structures exist only as long as the flow continues.
This image speaks of consciousness held hostage.
And at the same time it suggests something simple:
If the cork were removed, the flow would enter instantly.

From a biblical point of view, the Arcana "Devil" is not just an image of evil. It is a great parable about freedom, responsibility, and the distorted understanding of the serpent. Let me break it down layer by layer⬇️

1. The Devil is not an enemy, but an examiner.
In the Bible, especially in the book of Job, Satan is not an absolute evil, but a tester, a kind of prosecutor's advocate before God. He does not do evil for the sake of evil - he tests your faith, maturity, and free will.
"And the Lord said to Satan, 'Have you considered my servant Job?'" (Job 1:8)
This is the Devil standing in the trapdoor—no masks, no adornments, no skin. He does not seduce—he shows the truth that you fear to see. He stands in the aisle of the library—the gateway to knowledge. The gateway to the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.


2. The library is the Eden after the exile.
It is not hell. This is the knowledge that man received after the fall, after the bite of the forbidden fruit. And now you are being asked not to turn away from the knowledge, but to go through fire, through light, through pain, and to choose consciously.

The Book of Genesis (3:5):
“…and your eyes will be opened, and you will be like gods, knowing good and evil.”


3. The spiral of light in the chest — Christ is inside.
Yes, that's right. Even in the Devil's trap, the light doesn't disappear. It's inside. In the chest itself. This is the image of Christ within you, the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not comprehend it (John 1:5). It's a reminder that every fall holds the potential for resurrection.


4. Symbols and the star of David.
The star of David in the upper corner is a reminder that true power belongs to God. Even in hell, His seal is present — as the limit of what is allowed to evil. All symbols, even the pentagram, even the fire, are under the control of the supreme law. You are not trapped — you are in a maze from which there is a way out.


5. The path through fire and water is the Path of Jesus.
• Flame is purification, like fire in the desert.
• Water is like the Jordan, baptism.
• The castle and the matrix cube are Babylon, a world where everything is subject to illusion.
But as Jesus said:
"My Kingdom is not of this world." (John 18:36)
You must see Babylon to realize that you are not a part of it

And the finale: The Devil gives way.
This is the key.
He's not holding you. He's not able to hold on if you've seen his essence. He gives way to you if you are able to get past fear, temptation, and pride. He takes a step aside and opens the door for you.
Because the Bible says, "Seek and you will find, knock and it will be opened to you."
7:7)

From a biblical perspective, the Devil is not an image of the enemy, but rather a transformed test. It symbolizes the transition from blindness to enlightenment, from ego to Light. Those who pass through this test will no longer be the same.

On Emptiness and Exile
There is darkness that terrifies. And then there is darkness where even fear no longer exists. A void where nothing remains—not hope, not pain, not even the desire to feel.

This painting was born in a moment when the world turned to emptiness, and within, there were no emotions left—no response, no echo. It is not suffering, not rage, not longing. It is a state known only to those who have lost everything—even themselves.

When the piece was finished, it became clear: this is Lucifer’s portrait after the fall. Not a demon, not a rebel, not a symbol of evil—an exile. One who was once light and now stares into the void. There is no regret in his gaze, no anger—only understanding. Perhaps even acceptance.

This work is not about falling. Not about struggle. It is the moment after.
When all that remains is existence without meaning—
And yet, in this silence, something new may be born.
Or perhaps, nothing at all.

This work represents an alchemical ritual of transmutation through a lunar sacrifice, where sexuality is not about pleasure but about the activation of energy — a portal between worlds. The name Elena is not accidental.

The name “Elena” is an archetype in itself. It carries multiple layers of meaning:

– Helen of Troy — the woman whose beauty sparked a war, an embodiment of fatal beauty, a priestess of both love and conflict.
– Saint Helena — the mother of Emperor Constantine, who brought the relics of the Cross to Rome, the one who “discovered” the crucifixion.
– The Greek Ἑλένη (Helene) — derived from a word meaning torch, light, radiance.

Thus, she simultaneously embodies the victim, the priestess, and the bearer of light within darkness.

The seven-pointed star is not merely a symbol of the magician’s star, but also a structure of seals and power.

The eighteen female figures correspond to the number of the Moon Arcana, but the number itself carries deeper symbolism:

– 9 + 9 — yin + yin, the doubled feminine archetype.
– 6 + 6 + 6 — three sixes representing three levels of power: material, mental, and spiritual.

This ritual reenacts the return to primordial chaos in order to establish a higher order.

The ignition of the Rose of Immortality symbolizes the beginning of the alchemical transformation of the soul.

Blood, sexuality, ritual, and light form a formula that echoes ancient occult systems.

In this interpretation, the Moon Arcana becomes a turning point. It is not merely the Moon — it is a revelation for which the unprepared observer may not be ready.

At first glance it may appear as an erotic vision or a symbolic trance. In reality, it is an alchemical key to the archetypes of sacrifice, the body, light, and initiation into the hidden structures of power.

Before the viewer unfolds the final scene of a celebration that has turned into degradation. A wedding — traditionally a ritual of union — here is stripped of its sacred meaning and transformed into a caricature of intimacy.
The dwarf-like grotesque figures are not a mockery of the body, but a metaphor for distorted human relationships built on fear, lies, and mutual resentment.
The bride and groom are frozen in an act of violence — the moment when the illusion of love finally collapses. This is not a sudden outburst but a state of being: violence as a norm, as the language of the relationship.
The surrounding space holds no sense of celebration; instead it is filled with a heavy, circus-like darkness.
The key element of the composition is the mirror. Within it, the same couple appears in a different form: beautiful, tall, smiling people, standing with their backs to the viewer. This is not an alternative reality, but a representation of self-perception. The characters see themselves as “normal,” prosperous, loving — precisely the way many broken unions continue to exist within their own imagination.
The rooster in the cage symbolizes suppressed awakening. It represents a lost masculine principle — will and spirit confined within the cage of habitual roles and social scripts.
The work explores the phenomenon of collective self-deception, where violence disguises itself as union and degradation as tradition.
This is not a scene of horror, but a mirror into which the viewer inevitably finds themselves looking.

"Two Sides of One Essence"
There are always two within us.
One—who seeks to create, to forgive, to ascend.
The other—who destroys, who clings to wounds, who demands justice by their own law.
They look in opposite directions but are bound by the same neck. They cannot leave each other. They cannot exist apart.

This painting captures the moment of inner rupture, when both sides demand recognition. One carries the fire of creation, the other—the flames of vengeance. It is the battle between victim and warrior, between angel and destroyer.

Above—the gates of heaven. A stream of light cuts through the darkness, a reminder that there is a way out.

Below—the wings of an ancient goddess, guardian of death and transition. She is neither good nor evil. She does not interfere. She only witnesses, watching the soul waver between paths.

The background echoes the Devil card from the Thoth Tarot—a symbol of power that cannot simply be called evil. It is an energy that can enslave but also awaken. It is either mastery over oneself or enslavement to one's own shadows.

But what matters more—the battle or the realization that both faces belong to the same being?
Perhaps the answer is not in choosing between them, but in accepting them both.

This work is more than a painting. It is a frozen moment of initiation, an act of transformation, a visual code of metamorphosis.

The first layer is hidden beneath the paint, yet it lives. Within it—chaos, the raw force of unrealized potential, pushing against the boundaries of the familiar. A storm rages inside, a necessary prelude to the birth of something new. Fire, pain, resistance—and the unstoppable force of forward motion.

Flames ignite from within, burning through the chest, piercing layer by layer—until they become wings. Not just a symbol of freedom, but the soul’s fiery ascent, the realization of its true nature.

At the center—a face, stripped of masks. It does not belong to a single person; it is the soul itself, staring beyond the veil of this world. Ageless, nameless—simply present. Its third eye is the point of revelation, the moment of seeing that reality is far greater than it appears.

Above—eyes peering through the thin fabric of existence. Those who came before us. Ancestors, spirits, unseen forces that guide and support. Even in the darkest moments, we are never alone.

The cycle of life, etched into the heart of the painting, is a reminder: struggle is an illusion. Autumn follows summer, winter gives birth to spring. What seems like an end is always a beginning. To accept this is to step beyond fear.

But the true meaning lies in the heart. Here, it is not merely an organ, not just a symbol of emotion. It is a portal, through which infinite love flows. Not human, not conditional—but universal, boundless, all-encompassing.

This work does not just tell a story—it is the story.
A story of awakening, liberation, and self-acceptance.

This painting is a living code, an initiation map, a graphic revelation of the mystery of being. It unfolds the birth of a human on multiple levels—physical, energetic, and cosmic.

The Process of Becoming
The central figure is not just a body; it is a process of formation, a transition from chaos into form. Torn-apart limbs, bloodied bones, growing muscles—this is evolution in motion, creation not as a single moment but as a painful metamorphosis. The ribcage blooming with flowers symbolizes spring, renewal, the birth of the soul within the physical vessel. This is not just anatomy—it is the alchemy of flesh and spirit.

The Sphere: Womb, Earth, and the Eye of Creation
The figure is enclosed within a sphere, a symbol of the system. It is simultaneously a mother’s womb, the Earth, and the all-seeing eye, observing the act of creation. The core of the sphere is the point of origin, from which life expands, while the outer mantle forms layers of separation between man and the Source.

The Mind in Transition
The skull remains open, consciousness raw and receptive to the flood of information. DNA spirals, entwined by serpents, refer to ancient symbols of wisdom and transformation. The caduceus here is not merely a medical emblem but a path to transcendence, a key to immortality—if the mind embraces its nature and resists fear.

The Illusion of Control
Above, a pinecone merges with reptilian claws—a symbol of perception and manipulation. The pineal gland, the third eye, intertwines with the Eye of Ra, an ancient symbol of divine awareness. But the reptilian grasp suggests a duality—is this vision a gift or a trap? The battle for perception becomes the crucial test for those seeking to transcend human limitations.

The Eternal Duality
At the base of the painting, two opposing forces sustain the system—Moon and Sun, darkness and light, feminine and masculine. This is the foundation of duality, the very fabric of existence.

Gatekeepers of the Transition
The figures of Anubis and Hathor stand as guardians.

• Anubis, the guide of souls, holds the ankh, the key of life, but in his hands, it signifies a passage through death.
• Hathor, goddess of love, birth, and music, holds the same symbol, but hers represents the infusion of life with meaning, vibration, and essence.
• Their placement suggests that creation is not just a biological act—it is a mystical journey through both death and love.

The Boundless Sphere
The Latin inscription about a sphere without limits hints at the infinity of the Divine, the formlessness of the One who creates form. It is the key to understanding that even within a system, one can transcend it—by realizing their boundless nature.

This work is a philosophical treatise encoded in visual form.
It does not just depict the creation of man—it raises the deeper questions:

• Who are we?
• Where is the current of evolution leading us?
• And who truly holds the keys to our consciousness?

Inspired by Georges Antoine Rochegrosse
1859-1938 - French artist, one of the most original and distinctive painters of his generation.
A painting for a unique and meaningful interior.