I'm not sure if I create my imagination or if my imagination creates my reality. Did I dream that I was painting, or did I paint while dreaming?
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#fineart #oil #berlinartist #kamilopantano
🎨✨ I had the honor of participating in a beautiful exhibition where I presented 5 of my paintings. @030coa
I want to deeply thank the organizers for the invitation and the opportunity to be part of such a vibrant space filled with art, kind people, a warm audience, and amazing shows. đź’«
I hope my paintings were able to reach everyone who saw them, spark emotions, leave an impression… and that they continue to reach many more people.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who was there. I truly hope this is just the beginning of many exciting projects to come. ❤️‍🔥
#Thankful #ArtistLife #ContemporaryArt #ArtExhibition
#artberlin #berlinart #kunstberlin #berlinartist #berlinartists #kunst #ausstellung
#berlinartscene #artgermany #contemporaryart #fineart #modernart #painting #artlovers #artcollector #abstractart #galleryberlin #artinberlin #berlinexhibition #berlincreative
#artshowberlin #kunstszeneberlin #kunstliebhaber #kĂĽnstlerberlin #artcommunity
@berlin.artparasites@galleryweekendberlin@co.berlin@berlinartlink@contemporaryberlin
I’m not the devil.
But I’ve seen him cry.
He wept in the mirror where I redraw myself each night,
with clumsy lines,
with hands that no longer know flesh from shadow.
I was born between ink and error.
An accident of blood and feather.
Half of me smokes and lies,
the other hums songs I’d rather forget.
See the bird —
that flash of blue peeking through the wound in my chest.
It’s not hope.
It’s the last joke I’ve got.
A memory of something I once tried to protect
before turning it to ash.
I bless with one hand, curse with the other.
Balance. Irony.
Faith of the fallen.
People say,
“it’s just a drawing.”
And yes.
So is life.
In time’s slumbering skull,
death whispers with charcoal lips.
Life slips away — fleeting, brittle —
like a sigh caught in a solar eclipse.
But art, immortal in strokes of defiance,
rises through bone with a voice that won’t die.
Ars longa, the void sings in silence,
while brevity burns in the blink of an eye.
Fingers of chaos, trembling, caress it,
the line twists, shatters, yet still it persists —
a wounded beauty, raw and relentless,
etching its vow in the void that exists.
For though the soul fades into mist and decay,
and the body dissolves into shadow and loam,
art endures — it won’t fade away…
an echo unchained that outlives the tomb.
Between innocence and defiance,
a being forgotten by God treads impossible paths.
Half beast, half man,
caught between fable and truth,
he pedals a fragile balance over chaos.
Fate or damnation?
Perhaps only the echo of a mocking laugh in the wind.
