I didn't paint this because I understand the resurrection. I don't. And maybe I never will.
But there's this one minute I can't stop thinking about. Just one. The minute when everything changed...but no one saw it. No crowds, no angels announcing it. Just... Him. Breathing again. Heart beating. Eyes opening.
Death, which had always felt so final, suddenly wasn't.
Was there a pillar of light? Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe the light wasn't even visible maybe it was something you feel, like a warmth deep in your chest. Maybe it was the kind of quiet that feels holy. Maybe it was just love.
When I started painting, I was trying to picture it...to imagine what it looked like. But at some point, I stopped trying to get it "right" and started trying to be present in it. To feel it. To let myself stand in that minute and ask: what did the world do? Did the trees go still? Did the garden notice?
Did time pause, even for a second?
He doesn't need to be doing anything dramatic in this scene. Just being there alive is enough. His presence says what words never could: I'm here. I've done it. And this is just the beginning.
This painting is me trying to be there. Not to explain it, not to decorate it...just to be in it, with open hands. To let the mystery be what it is. And to say, from the deepest part of me: thank You.
